


Torn to Tattered

by red_b_rackham



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: Angst, Angstangstangst, Drama, F/M, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Torture Scenes, Mild/Moderate Violence, Romance, Semi-Graphic Violence Descriptions, Trigger: Miscarriage, Trigger: POW, War, background Mer/Der, unhealthy Alex/Izzie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-07
Updated: 2012-05-26
Packaged: 2017-10-29 02:28:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 55,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/314835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_b_rackham/pseuds/red_b_rackham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When tragedy strikes close to Izzie's heart, it's George and Alex who must be there for her. But when a fateful decision leads George overseas, can she deal with the aftermath and find the strength to move forward? Izzie/George, Izzie/Alex. AU Post-S5.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Amazing Life

**Author's Note:**

> A/n: I did do research for this story, however, I am not a doctor or soldier nor do I know anyone personally who is. Mistakes are mine. Thank you Nicola (sohoblue123/Astronomy Snap) for being my sounding board, cheerleader, motivator, character-checker, proof-reader, canon-reminder and idea supplementer.
> 
> Timeline: Completely ignores S6. Starts a few months post-S5, but (more or less) ignoring the finale.  
> Shipper's Note: This story contains Izzie/George and Izzie/Alex, with very slight background-ish-ness Mer/Der and various other even more minor ships.
> 
> Rating Note: This story is rated T, for mild/occasional swearing, some violence/descriptions, and general adult themes. Trigger warning: miscarriage, "war" descriptions, prisoner of war/implied torture.
> 
> (Originally posted on ff.net 3/19/2010)

* * *

_We've given in to getting through the days...  
-Matt Pond PA_

* * *

When George O'Malley got up that morning, it was with a heavy sigh caused by the knowledge that the day would probably be the very same as the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that. He would get to the hospital, get passed over to participate in any decent surgeries - or a surgery at all - work in the clinic for most of the day, do rounds, paperwork and log yet more hours in the skills lab.

As he brushed his teeth, he knew that it was all part of the job, but it was starting to get awfully mundane being the guy who always worked hard and no one seemed to notice. Taking a moment to look at himself in the mirror, he wondered what he'd done - or hadn't done - to get to this point in his life: living in a terrible little apartment (somewhat affectionately nick-named the crapartment), doing the same thing day in and day out, no love life to speak of, feeling like he hadn't moved forward in his life for too long, watching everyone else doing what he wasn't.

_Well, I'm not going to waste my day thinking about it,_ he thought, snatching up an apple for breakfast on his way out the door. _I have enough time in the evenings for that._

He sighed heavily. _Just another day._

* * *

"So then I said that I wasn't going to take this lying down, and that there were rules against playing dirty." Meredith pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail at the base of her neck while she spoke.

"That's what she said," Alex chimed in as he walked past to head out of the locker room.

Cristina wrinkled her nose in disgust at him then turned back to Meredith. "Did he back off?"

She shrugged. "Didn't matter. She still gave him the surgery."

George tossed his things in his locker as he arrived and asked her, "What happened?"

"The plague struck again." Cristina quipped.

"I know, right? I mean who does that? Who lies to get a surgery?"

Cristina raised an eyebrow indicating she clearly would and Meredith ignored her.

"Who lied to get a surgery?" George sat down on the bench beside Meredith.

"Oh, some Mercy West idiot." She answered. "Cristina's not kidding. They're seriously like the plague. Infiltrating, slowly killing us off... You know the Chief said he's going to be laying off or firing at least five more people before the end of the week. And he said everyone was fair game, Seattle Grace or Mercy West staff."

"Perfect." Cristina slammed her locker shut after retrieving her lab coat and exited the increasingly crowded locker room.

* * *

The day passed by rather uneventfully. No major traumas came in and though there were a few relatively regular surgeries on the board, none of them were given to George. He was hardly surprised. Whether he asked for it or not, put his hand up, joined in when there was sucking up to be done, he still seemed to get passed by.

"Better luck next time, hey O'Malley?" said Alex as he headed off to help perform a bowel repair surgery.

George didn't reply as he scooped up a pile of charts. He was very much looking forward to the day when Izzie would be back at work. He missed her smiling face and whenever he felt like he was having a bad day, she'd make him feel better. It somehow made the mundane days seem much more tolerable to have her around, too. She'd been given a few months off since her bout with cancer in order to fully recover and she was coming back to work this week.

He checked the first chart in his pile and walked down the hall to begin rounds.

* * *

"Good afternoon, Mr. Patterson," George greeted the elderly man on the hospital bed. "How are things today?"

Mr. Patterson had come in three days previous for an emergency cholecystectomy (gallbladder stone removal) and was recovering from surgery. "Oh, just dandy," He grinned. "Hoping I can finally get the green light so I can go home and see my grandkids, Dr. O'Malley!"

George chuckled as he looked over Mr. Patterson's chart. "Well sir, your white blood cell count is a little higher than I'd like, but I don't see why I can't send you home tonight."

The older man's grin increased. "Thank you, Dr. O'Malley, thank you."

"You're very welcome, Mr. Patterson. One of the nurses will be by soon with discharge papers." George shook the man's outstretched hand and continued on his way to complete the rest of his rounds.

* * *

It was sort of a routine or tradition they'd developed. Once a week, usually a Wednesday or Thursday, several of them would go over to Meredith's house, as it was the biggest, for supper. The mix of people was often different depending on who'd already made plans or who was working, but it didn't matter what the mix was, just that they got together.

It made Izzie especially happy, as it gave her something to do. She'd been stuck at home for the past couple months as she fully recovered from her bout with cancer. She was on medical leave from the hospital, and while she and Alex now mostly lived in Derek's old trailer, she spent most of her days at Meredith's house until Alex came home from work and then they would go to the trailer later. Meredith loved the arrangement as it meant that most days of the week she didn't have to cook nor even clean as Izzie was bored and enjoyed both activities so was more than willing to do both. She was enjoying cooking even more, as in the few months that she'd been home and getting back on her feet, she'd made it her goal to become as good a cook as she was a baker.

That evening it was just five of them: Meredith, Derek, George, Cristina and Izzie. Izzie made them a wonderful Italian meal and Cristina left right after as she'd made late evening plans with Owen. The remaining three helped with the dishes then stayed and chatted for another hour or two. The conversation inevitably turned to when Meredith and Derek were really going to get married.

"We are married," shrugged Derek.

" _Real_ married," Izzie corrected. "Like with a legal, binding document."

"We have a binding document." Meredith grinned and glanced at Derek.

"Uh, I don't think Post-Its count as _legal_ or _binding_." said George.

"Well, alright, I can concede the legal part," Derek replied. "But it's definitely binding."

Meredith stood from her chair. "Speaking of binding..." She looked suggestively at Derek who laughed.

"Married three months and she still can't keep her hands off me." He joked. He and Meredith then bid the other two good-night and headed upstairs.

Izzie and George moved to the living room and settled down onto the couch together. When they heard the door to Meredith's room shut, Izzie giggled.

"What?" asked George.

"The whole Post-It thing. It's just funny."

He laughed with her. "It is. They really should have a real wedding soon."

She nodded, her golden hair just about touching her shoulders when she moved her head back. "I'm dying to be a bridesmaid."

"You do realize that when and if they ever do get married for real, they're just going to sneak off to City Hall during their lunch break at the hospital."

"I can hope."

The pair talked for quite some time after that about everyday things before George glanced at his watch and decided it was about time for him to head home.

"You going to be okay here?" he asked as he rose from the couch.

"Oh yeah," she waved her hand at him dismissively. "Alex will be here soon and we'll go back to the trailer together."

"I mean with the, uh, Post-It newlyweds upstairs." He gestured towards the ceiling with his thumb.

Izzie smiled and held up the TV remote. "Very loud volume. Got it covered."

"Ah." George slipped on his coat and grabbed his keys. Before he got the chance to say goodbye, the phone rang. Izzie leaned across to grab it.

"Hello, Grey residence, Izzie speaking?" she said brightly into the receiver.

George gave her a wave to indicate he was going when she froze and her whole demeanor went from cheerful to shocked. He stopped where he was, dread blooming in his stomach.

"What?" her voice wavered. "When?"

He didn't move - something was very wrong. A good few minutes of silence passed by on Izzie's end of the phone as the caller talked.

"Uh... uh, ok, t-thanks." She shakily hung up the phone.

"Izzie? What is it?"

She looked up at him numbly. "Mom's dead."


	2. Scared

_I know you're still there because you're scared that you'll lose everything...  
-Albert Hammond Jr._

* * *

George was at her side immediately, placing his hand on her arm. "Izzie, I'm so sorry."

"I just talked to her… I just…" Izzie shook her head, reeling from the shock of the phone call. "Yesterday. I talked to her _yesterday_ and she was fine."

He guided her to the couch gently, afraid she was going to fall down at any moment. "What happened?" he asked.

"She had a heart attack," she turned to him, her eyes wide and scared. "She was healthy. She ate right, she exercised… she tried the odd fad diet, but she was _healthy_. How does a healthy person have a heart attack and die out of the blue like that?"

"These things happen, Iz. Sometimes there's no rhyme or reason." He put his arm around her.

"She was fine. God, George, she was _fine!_ " A tear slid down her cheek and she quickly brushed it away. She leaned forward, cradling her head in her hands.

George stayed beside her, his hand on her back. He knew her well enough to know that this was a time where words didn't help. He just needed to be right there beside her and that was more comfort than anything else. He'd had the same feeling a couple years before when his father had gone into surgery and Izzie had come to simply hold his hand tight. No words, just her presence.

Finally when she stopped shaking and leaned back into his shoulder with a tear-stained face, he asked her quietly, "What are you going to do?"

She sniffled and used her sleeve to wipe her eyes. "Tomorrow after work I'll call Uncle Rick and ask about funeral arrangements. And then I'll go to Davenport for a few days and – "

George was nodding along until the first part of her sentence caught up with him and he cut in incredulously, "Wait, _after work_? You're not seriously still going to go back now, are you?"

"George, I've been waiting for this for months." She was dead serious.

"But – you – your…" He sputtered and pulled his arm away from her, facing her properly. "Izzie, your mother just died. You can't – you shouldn't even be _considering_ the idea of-of going back to work right now."

"I've been gone for three months. And with this merger, I've got to get back in this and make sure my job is safe."

"Look, the Chief - he'll understand. You can't go back now."

"Yes I do, George. It's been too long. I can't let some Mercy Wester swoop in and steal my job just because I'm having a rough time."

George gaped at her. "Do you even hear yourself right now? You had _cancer_ and your mother died – "

She stood up, drying her eyes completely and clearly shutting out his words.

He shut his mouth, finally recognizing what was going on. She was so like him in that way. Something that bothered them on a very deep level, they would push away and shove down inside, holding on tight and refusing to face it. Things would build on top of it until one day the emotions would boil over. The important thing was that he be nearby when she reached that breaking point and would finally face her mother's death head-on. He grimly remembered the way he'd buried his feelings after his father's death in a similar manner. He'd tried to use sex with Callie to numb the pain. Izzie was choosing to throw herself into work.

She still had her back to him so he rose from the couch and went to stand in front of her.

"Are you sure about this?"

She didn't respond for a few seconds than shook her head just slightly.

He gave her shoulder a squeeze. "See you tomorrow."

Her eyes were watery and she pretended they weren't. "Yeah, see you."

* * *

Alex had a similar reaction later that night back at the trailer. After Izzie had told him about her mother, he quickly gave her a hug and told her he was sorry she had to go through this so soon after recovering from cancer. When she told him she was still going to work the next day, he pulled away from her like she was suddenly on fire and fairly shouted,

"You're going back to work!"

"Calm down, Alex."

"Izzie, c'mon. You can't go back right now."

"Yes, I am. I need make sure I keep my job. I've already been gone for three months, I can't ask the Chief for any more time."

He stared at her. "You just lost your mom and you're worried about what the _Chief'll_ think if you ask for more time off?"

"You sound like George. He said the same thing."

Alex's features darkened momentarily which Izzie missed as she started changing into her pajamas.

"If you're worried about the stress of all this, don't be." said Izzie. "I can handle it. I'll deal with the funeral stuff tomorrow and I'll go to Davenport next week or something for a few days. I just _need_ to be at the hospital tomorrow."

Alex shook his head and climbed into bed. "Whatever." He flipped off the bedside lamp forcefully.

Izzie wasn't sure why he was so angry with her over this but was far too tired and emotional to start a fight over it, so she simply climbed into bed beside him. She tried hard not to think about the reality that her mother was dead and it took a very long time before she finally was able to drift off to sleep.

* * *

The beginning of her day started with a silent car ride between her and Alex to the hospital. He was clearly unhappy that she'd decided to go back to work anyway today and she wasn't interested in apologizing for it or further explaining it. Cooking and cleaning at Meredith's was all fine for a while, but she was absolutely itching to get back to work. The part she hadn't mentioned to neither George nor Alex, though she suspected George had guessed, was that if she was at work worrying about patients, she would have no time to fill her head with grief over her mom.

The news was so out of left field that the only way she felt like she could properly deal with it, was to _not_ deal with it. Shove it away until she was actually at the funeral, and then she could take the time to feel it.

But not now.

When they pulled up in the parking lot, Alex didn't wait for her nor did he say anything like "See you later" or "Have a good day". She sighed and exited the car a moment later, wondering if he was going to be mad at her all day because she was refusing to face her mom's death.

Upon entering the hospital and for a few hours after, most everyone she knew from Seattle Grace greeted her warmly, welcoming her back, glad she was alright. She hitched on her best Bright-and-Shiny Izzie smile and it started to become easy to forget about her mom. She could pretend it'd been a nightmare, that it hadn't really happened. Her mom lived far away and didn't know anyone else save Izzie's closest circle of friends so it wasn't like her death was directly impacting anyone else. Her determination to keep that reality in the very back of her mind was helped greatly by the smiles of those around her.

At least, until about lunch time.

She'd been working hard, disregarding the Chief's advice about easing herself back into the job. What she'd said to George and Alex, she'd meant: she wasn't about to let a Mercy Wester steal her spot at the hospital, so she was more than prepared to work as hard or harder than them to keep it. She finally took a much needed break for lunch and when she settled down beside Meredith at their usual table with a wide smile on her face, she immediately noticed the tension and sadness.

"What?" she asked without thinking.

Meredith laid her hand comfortingly on Izzie's arm. "Iz, Alex told us. We're so sorry about your mom."

And the illusion that she could go all day without thinking about her mom was destroyed.

"Oh... I, uh... yeah, thanks." Izzie swallowed, suddenly not hungry anymore.

Meredith tried to offer some more words of comfort, Cristina didn't say anything but Izzie could see the sympathy on her face, and Alex acted oblivious to the conversation, flipping through a magazine and eating his lunch loudly. George was playing with his food uncomfortably and shooting her glances, trying to read what she was feeling and silently asking if he needed to change the subject.

Izzie endured it for a few more moments and then when Alex got up to dump his tray, she stood as well, telling the others she'd see them later. She caught up with him in the hallway and pulled him to the side.

"Why'd you tell them about Mom?" she demanded.

"Because it's a big deal and they're your friends," he replied.

"I didn't want you to tell them. I did not want to have to sit there and hear the _oh-I'm-sorry_ 's and the _oh-she's-in-a-better-place-now_ 's. That's what I'll be getting for several hours the day of the funeral and the entire time I'm Davenport. I do not need it here too, least of all right now."

"Hey, stop jumping down my throat about this." He snapped back at her. "You didn't tell me you wanted this to be a secret."

"Yeah, well, I did. Until I was ready to handle it."

"Anything else I shouldn't be talking about?"

"Don't be like that."

He shook his head and pushed past her, ending their discussion.

She tried to reign in her emotions before continuing with the rest of her day.

* * *

The second half of her day went significantly less smoothly than the first half. She kept thinking of Alex and why the two of them seemed to be at each other's throats about every other thing, and how they both got instantly defensive as soon as they tried to talk to each other about anything. She also was constantly getting bombarded by people offering their condolences about her mother and Izzie hated even more that Alex had told Meredith and Cristina, and especially in the lunch room. As was always inevitably the case at Seattle Grace, gossip and news was constantly overheard and retold, so within just a couple hours it seemed the entire hospital was aware that she'd lost her mother.

She tried in vain to return to the happiness of being back from that morning, but it was long gone. She couldn't manage her Bright-and-Shiny smile anymore and her plan to keep her mother's death at a distance was failing miserably. She was distracted and flustered and increasingly emotional, the more people stopped her and tried to talk to her about her mother's death.

The next day was the same, with the looks of sympathy and anyone who somehow hadn't heard the news yet finding out and coming to see her. It started to become unbearable as she was forced to feel the weight of her loss heavily on her shoulders.

Around mid-morning, after some young intern mentioned how hard it is to get over the death of a parent, Izzie hurriedly excused herself and rushed to the bathroom on the fifth floor. It was almost always empty and right now empty is what she so desperately needed. She locked herself in a stall and began crying, the feelings of grief she'd tried so hard to contain bubbling up and out.

She heard the door open and stopped abruptly, not wanting her pain to be overheard. Two pairs of white nurse's shoes came in and the two women were chatting happily about this and that. When they went to wash their hands, one said,

"Did you hear about Dr. Stevens on the surgical floor?"

"She the one who had cancer?" asked the other.

"That's the one. Jemima told me earlier that I guess her mom just passed away."

The second nurse made a sad _tsk_ sound. "That's got to be rough."

"I know, right? First cancer and now this. She must be having a real time of it."

"Is she back at work?"

"Apparently..."

As the door shut slowly behind them, their chatter faded and Izzie found herself feeling, if possible, worse than before. There's nothing like hearing your situation laid out plainly by a total stranger. Maybe coming back to work wasn't such a good idea after all.


	3. Always

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: Just a reminder, I did say that this story completely ignores season 6, but I have carried over a couple of things, just handled them much differently. But mostly it disregards it.

* * *

_Control, I need it in the worst way, babe...  
-Neverending White Lights_

* * *

Over the next couple days Izzie fared a bit better, as other news items had popped up in the hospital to take the attention off of her. Still, she found herself struggling to focus on her work. She'd learned from her Uncle Rick that the funeral was going to happen two weeks from tomorrow and that it was going to be small, very close friends and family only. It was practically all she could think about.

What would she do when she got to Davenport?

"Good morning, Mr. uh, Patterson," Izzie glanced at the chart. "I see here you were just in a few days ago for a gallbladder surgery."

Would she stay in her mother's house? She supposed that's what would be expected, but she wasn't sure she could do it. It'd be full of childhood memories - the kind she liked to forget - and worse, it'd still be full of mother. Her mother who was gone.

"Well, I've been better. I certainly wouldn't be here if I was fine." The old man chuckled.

She supposed she could stay with Uncle Rick, but then he'd probably want to reminisce about everything, and he'd pry about her life in Seattle, try to get her to join in watching home movies or some other activity that was just as painful... No, she didn't think she could stay with him.

"What seems to be the problem?" She checked the healing incision area on Mr. Patterson's stomach area, noting it was a bit red and inflamed.

Maybe she could stay at the hotel. That'd probably be the easiest, though certainly not the cheapest. For a small town hotel, they were seriously expensive.

"I've been having some pain in my stomach since I went home the other day," Mr. Patterson explained. "Dr. O'Malley said a little bit would be normal for a few days, but that some plain ol' painkillers would ease it. He said if it wasn't going away or if the painkillers don't seem to be working, I should come back in."

How long was she going to stay anyways? She didn't want to have to hang around for too long - she wanted very much to get it over with. Show up, go to the funeral, deal with the will (if there was one) and come home.

"Well, Dr. O'Malley's a smart man." Izzie smiled a bit and scribbled some notes down on the older man's chart. "I think you're still suffering from normal post-op symptoms, so I'm going to write you a prescription for some slightly stronger painkillers, and you should be good to go."

She supposed she'd be gone maybe a week, at most. Maybe not even that long.

Mr. Patterson looked unsure as he took the piece of paper with the prescription on it from Izzie but thanked her nonetheless. She flashed him a quick smile and moved on to her next patient in the clinic.

* * *

By late afternoon, Izzie decided that she'd drive to Davenport a day before the funeral and leave three days after. She figured that would be sufficient enough that people wouldn't think she was cold-hearted or anything, but short enough that hopefully being there wouldn't completely overwhelm her.

She grabbed a coffee and found an empty on-call room to lay down in. She didn't have long before she was supposed to be assisting in an open-heart surgery, but at the moment she needed to stop moving. Whether she admitted it out loud or not, being here was exhausting. She was still much weaker than she used to be because of the cancer and she doubted she ever would be one hundred percent the way she was before.

Her limbs ached and she felt like she hadn't stopped moving all day. She rested her head on the pillow, just for moment, waiting for the half of her coffee she'd downed to kick in...

* * *

"There you are!"

Izzie sat up so fast she hit her head on the bottom of the upper bunk bed in the on-call room.

"I didn't fall asleep!" She said quickly, rubbing her head and unsuccessfully trying not to seem like she'd just been wrenched from a dead sleep.

Cristina was in the doorway looking irritated. "Did your pager break?"

Izzie glanced at it, sitting on the night stand by the bottom bunk and it was on. "No?"

"We've been paging you forever. Did you seriously sleep through it all?"

"I... " Izzie picked up her pager and it told her she'd missed 11 pages. "I'm sorry - "

"Don't tell it to me – Bailey's the one who's going to skin you alive for being late for surgery." Cristina snapped as Izzie hurried to join her friend in the hallway. "I told her to page someone else but she wanted you on this so she actually sent me to look for you."

"I'm sorry Cristina, I - it was just a second – "

"Save it."

Once scrubbed in, Izzie proceeded to hurriedly apologize to Bailey, who chewed Izzie out only mildly compared to other instances in the past. Izzie tried not to think about it, just thankful she'd been given the chance to still be in the surgery after sleeping through her pager.

* * *

George was on his way to complete his evening rounds when he was called to help in the Emergency room. The staff there currently had their hands full, and asked him to cover the man coming in on a stretcher.

George hurried over and recognized the man in surprise. "Mr. Patterson! What happened?"

Mr. Patterson was clutching his stomach and crying out in pain.

The paramedic wheeling Mr. Patterson in quickly explained that the old man was suffering from severe abdominal pains and they strongly suspected it was a complication from his recent gallbladder surgery.

George checked the man over quickly and the paramedic's suspicions were confirmed. "He's leaking bile into his abdomen."

* * *

Just as Izzie was heading upstairs to prepare to go home, Lexie caught her.

"Excuse me Dr. Stevens? The Chief needs to see you." she said.

"What about?" asked Izzie.

Lexie shrugged. "He just told me to catch you before you left."

Izzie nodded and thanked Lexie before changing directions and making her way to the Chief's office. She wondered what he needed and supposed he probably just wanted to make sure she was doing alright. She appreciated most of the time that so many people in the hospital cared about her, but this past week she could've done with a lot less caring.

In any event, she figured since she going to be talking to the Chief anyway, she might as well ask him for the days off to go to Davenport for her mother's funeral. She was sure he'd be very understanding about it as anyone would be, but she still felt uncomfortable having to ask for more time off after having months off for medical leave.

She knocked quietly. "Chief? You needed to talk to me?"

The Chief looked up from the documents spread out haphazardly on his desk and smiled, though it wasn't really a happy smile. "Stevens, come on in. Close the door behind you, if you don't mind."

Izzie did as she was asked and then took a seat in front of the Chief, regarding him expectantly.

He seemed to have trouble starting the conversation as he removed and pocketed his glasses and shifted his weight uneasily in his desk chair. This in turn made Izzie uneasy and she started to twist her hands a bit in her lap.

"Is everything okay?" she questioned.

"Do you recall treating a patient today who'd recently had a cholecystectomy?"

Izzie racked her brain and it didn't seem familiar. There'd been the heart surgery, of course, some discharges, guy with the leg thing, lady with head thing... "Oh wait, Mr. Patterson? Yes, I remember him. He had some mild pain as a result of his surgery. I prescribed him painkillers to take the edge off."

The Chief's features grew grimmer. "He came in an ambulance a few hours ago while you were in surgery, suffering from severe stomach pains and shortness of breath. The incision was very inflamed and he said he'd been vomiting the past few hours as well."

Izzie felt like a big rock had dropped into her stomach as she listened. She'd noticed earlier that the incision had seemed reddened. But she'd been so busy worrying about the funeral...

"Dr. O'Malley luckily was the doctor who ended up treating him, so he already knew his case. He was rushed into an emergency surgery and he's expected to make a full recovery over the next couple weeks."

Izzie swallowed uncomfortably. "I'm so sorry sir. I – there's no excuse for my mistake. I was… distracted."

"I know, Stevens. And I know you're not the type of doctor who makes mistakes easily. But I also know that a cholecystectomy is very routine, and bile peritonitis is not a terribly common complication. Not to the extent Mr. Patterson had it when he came in this evening." The Chief explained somberly. "Thankfully nothing more serious happened in this particular case, but it does make me question if you're fit to be back already. This is not simply about Mr. Patterson's case. I was also informed today that you nearly missed an open-heart surgery assist."

Izzie felt flustered trying to think of how to properly explain herself. "I… I didn't hear my pager, Chief, and that – that's something… else that was – is - a one-time thing, I – "

"Izzie," The Chief stopped her. "I know you're a good doctor. So for these things to be happening, I know there's got to be a very serious reason. And, this is going to be hard for you to understand, but I'm going to ask you not to come back to this hospital for now."

Izzie stared. "Are you… sir, are you… am I fired?"

"No, not _fired_. Just… not currently employed, for now - "

"Cut? Laid off? Pick a word, it's the same thing." Her cheeks felt hot and she couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Is it someone from Mercy West? Did they do a better job than me? Is it because I literally made _one_ mistake?"

"Of course not. I'm not laying you off for that. I'm laying you off because whether you'll admit it or not, you are still recovering from battling a particularly brutal cancer with a very low survival rate – "

"I had three months off for that – "

"And your mother just passed away – "

"Sir – "

" _And_ , Stevens, all of these combined have _resulted_ in you being unfocused and making mistakes. The last thing you need right now is the added stress of this hospital. I'm not saying you can never work here again. In a year or so when you've got yourself in order and this hospital is a much more balanced place without a surplus of staff, you'd of course be welcome to come back."

Izzie couldn't understand how this was happening to her. She was not about to lose her job, not now, not with everything else in her life spiraling down horribly. She shook her head and forced herself to hold onto some form of a calm and rational composure.

"Sir, I see where you're coming from." Though she was pretty sure she didn't. "You need to see my side here. This hospital is my _life_. The cancer was awful and it's been tough getting over it all, but I _need_ to be here. All that time that I was bed-ridden and then stuck at home – it was torture. Not being able to do this job, do what I love… it was _torture_.

"I need this job _because_ I lost my mom and I battled cancer. I can't _not_ be here. You can't fire me – not now, not like this. Please."

The Chief clenched and unclenched his jaw then said sadly, "I'm sorry, Stevens."

She was struggling to keep herself together as it was and at the Chief's words, sounding so final, she couldn't stand it anymore.

"You can't _do_ this to me!" she shouted and stood. "Didn't you – did you hear _anything_ I just said? I need this! I have to work here, I – I'm one of the best damn residents you have and you're going to fire me over one mistake? I missed the cholecystectomy complication – but you said it yourself, he's going to be fine. I - what the _hell_ is your problem?"

The Chief's eyes hardened slightly. "I've explained my reasons and my decision is not changing. I'm sorry. I'd like to see you back when you've got yourself together but I'm starting to feel less and less like keeping that option open to you."

"Yeah, well maybe I don't even want to come back." She fired back hotly. She flew towards the door, throwing it open with such force that it slammed into the wall and made a picture nearby wobble precariously.

Izzie's world was falling apart and crashing down around her. _First mom, now this…_ She hurried through the halls to the locker room, ignoring the concerned looks she got from various people who noted the tears on her face. In the locker room she threw her things together fiercely and dared anyone to ask her what was going on.

 _Just get away,_ she thought. _Get away from it all._

She almost made it out of the hospital before George saw her.

"Izzie? What's wrong?" He caught up with her but she brushed him off angrily and snapped at him to leave her alone.

"Izzie? Wait, what hap- "

"Just leave me _alone_ , George!"

She stormed out of Seattle Grace, leaving a trail of stunned and concerned people in her wake.

* * *

George ran after her almost immediately, catching up with her again before she reached her car.

"Izzie, what's going on?"

She faced him and said heatedly, "I just got fired, George. The one thing that was keeping me from going absolutely insane was the prospect of being here at work and helping people. And now the Chief has taken even that away from me." Tears rolled down her cheeks and she brushed them away.

"Iz…" George tried to place a comforting hand on arm, his heart breaking for her. He respected the Chief greatly and knew he probably had his reasons, but he couldn't think of what they might be. She was going through probably the worst time of her life these past six months and this was the icing on the proverbial cake.

She shook him off and started towards her car. "I'll be fine. It's his loss. I just… I'm going."

"Going home?"

She didn't reply aside from a quick shake of her head as she unlocked the car door and tossed her things in the passenger's seat.

"Going where, then?" George questioned. He didn't think he'd ever seen her like this and he didn't know what to do. He knew her so well he almost always could tell what she needed in nearly any situation. This was new. He had no past experiences to help him with the way she was completely closed off and angry, unemployed unwillingly and grieving for the death of a parent.

"Goodbye George." She climbed into the driver's seat and shut the door, starting up the car and nearly blinding George with the headlights.

He watched her peel out of the parking lot.

* * *

Confused and more than a little concerned, George hurried through the hospital until he found Alex in the resident's locker room getting ready to leave.

"Izzie's gone." He said at once.

Alex scowled at George in confusion. "What, gone home?"

"I don't think so." George answered. "The Chief fired her. She… just left."

"She got fired? Why the hell didn't she tell me? Where is she going?"

"I don't know – she wouldn't say. But I think we should go after her. I have my car here, we can take that… and…" George trailed off, noticing that Alex was staring at him strangely. "What?"

"Why'd you come to me?"

Now it was George's turn to stare strangely. "Well, you're her husband." Was it not completely obvious why he'd told Alex first?

Alex snorted. "Yeah, I wear a wedding ring alright." He scooped up his coat and headed for the door.

"Alex!" George stopped him. "I think she's really gone. We – _you_. You should go after her."

"Relax, O'Malley. She's probably back at the trailer crying. I'll deal with it when I get home."

"This isn't like that – this isn't – no, I really think it's something worse. She's not acting like her herself because of her mom and - "

"What do you expect me to do then, huh?" Alex rounded on him. "Jump in a car and speed down the highway and hope it's the same one she took? You just said you don't know where she's going – if she really did _leave_. I have no way of finding her."

"Call her then." George fired back firmly, irritated by Alex's attitude. Alex hadn't seen Izzie outside by her car, the way she looked so lost. He didn't understand that something was different.

Alex shook his head. "She's at home." He added crossly, "Just because you're her best friend doesn't mean you know her the best."

George bit back a reply and let Alex go. Unfortunately, Alex did have a point about trying to follow Izzie. They didn't know where she'd gone and trying to drive after her would just be a waste of gas. Unwilling to admit defeat just yet, George quickly dialed Izzie's cell on his own. It rang repeatedly and went to voice mail.

"Izzie, it's George. I hope you're on your way to Derek's trailer right now… that's where Alex thinks you're going anyway. I'm worried about you, so uh… just call me, okay? Bye."

He hoped he was overreacting and he hoped Alex was right. He hardly slept that night waiting for her to call him back, and he checked his phone constantly in case he'd dozed off and missed her call. But he'd still heard nothing by morning.

When he expressed his concerns about Izzie not calling him back and disappearing to the others, Meredith was strangely calm about the situation.

"I'm sure she just went home to Davenport early for the funeral," she reasoned. "She has no reason to be here anymore since the Chief axed her. She's having a pretty rough time but I'm sure she'll call when she's ready."

"Newlywed, Happy and Calm-About-Everything Meredith is really weird on you, I hope you know that." said Cristina.

Alex was moodier than usual and avoided talking to everyone else as much as possible, least of all George. He almost seemed to act like it was George's fault she was gone, as if he hadn't tried hard enough to stop or because he didn't where she'd gone, he was responsible for her not calling anyone.

George tried to explain to the others that Izzie's reaction was something they hadn't seen before, that this was as bad as, if not worse, than when Denny had died.

Cristina said she'd be more worried if a week went by with no word from her so one day wasn't a big deal, brushing George off completely. "She probably couldn't stay away from us for that long anyway without missing us anyway," she said with an eye-roll. "She's totally freaking out. Give her some space, Bambi."

George didn't like that they were being so calm about the situation. He had to admit they were probably right – she'd gone to Davenport early and would call them in a few days to tell them as much. Even so, he had a churning feeling of unease in his stomach that he couldn't get rid of and he decided he wasn't going to wait too long for her to call before he drove to Davenport himself.


	4. Hanging By A Moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: By the way, the inspiration for "Barbara's Fashion and Physiotherapy" is from an actual place in my hometown. It isn't "Barbara's", but it *is* actually Fashion and Physiotherapy. Seriously. There are other bizarre store combos in my town, but that one if my favorite.

* * *

_I'm standing here until you make me move...  
-Lifehouse_

* * *

First message: _"Izzie, it's Alex. You're not at the trailer and your bag is gone. And O'Malley told me you got fired. Call me."_

Second message: _"Hey, it's George again. I'm uh… just wondering, still, where you are and if you're okay. You haven't called me back yet – well, obviously, otherwise I probably wouldn't be leaving you another message. Um, anyways. I have my phone on me at all times, so call me back. Whenever. But soon. Bye."_

Third message: _"Iz, where are you? I'm freaking out here. You're not dead in a ditch or anything, right? Okay, that was kinda morbid, sorry. Look, it's fine if you went to Davenport early, just for God's sake, let me know. Talk to you soon."_

Fourth message: _"Hey Izzie! It's Meredith. Just checking in. In case you haven't been keeping track, it's actually been three days since you disappeared and we're really worried about you back here, so… maybe you could call me – or any one of us, back. Okay, bye."_

Fifth message: _"Okay, so you're not dead. Thanks for calling when you knew no one was home. Izzie, I… talk to me! Should I be coming down there to be with you? You know, as your_ husband _and all...? Or... whatever. Call someone else for all I care. Bye."_

Sixth message: _"Um, hey, George. Again. My phone died this morning and it took an hour to charge and um… just hoping you didn't call while it was off. But if you did, then call me back right away, because my phone's all charged now. So… yeah. Bye."_

Seventh message: _"Izzie, where the hell are you? Should I be filing a missing person's report? I'm your husband and I don't even care if you call anyone else back – I'm sure they're all leaving you voicemails too – but… c'mon, call_ me _back. Please."_

Eighth message: _"Hey. It's Cristina. Mer told me I should call you and badger you too. And I'm supposed to remind you that it's now been a full nine days since you left. They're all going mental here, I hope you know, and debating daily if they should pile into a car and drive to Davenport to find you. Anyways, they're probably all leaving you massive amounts of voicemails. I wouldn't answer my phone either. But you seriously should call them and actually talk to someone so that we can talk about something else at lunch. And they'll stop bothering me to call you too. Later."_

Ninth message: _"George calling… again. Maybe if I leave you enough messages you'll eventually call me back? C'mon Iz, just tell me what's going on. This isn't like you. Talk to me – I'm here. I'm always here, you know that. You know my number, so use it, okay? Talk to you soon."_

Tenth message: _"Izzie, is it me? Did you leave because I said something? I'm sorry – I'm sorry about our fight, okay? I'm sorry we always fight. You're not leaving me for good, right? This is just a grief thing because of your mom...? We got the message you left the other day saying you don't want any of us to come find you, so then what the hell_ do _you want? The radio silence here is making me crazy, Iz. Call me."_

Eleventh message: _"George again. Still pretty much freaking out about you… um… Is your phone broken? Is that it? There's still pay phones around, you know. Get a stranger to lend you a quarter. Or you could send us a letter. Hey maybe it's in the mail! Or an email – that'd be faster, actually. Smoke signals? I don't really know how to read them, but I could learn. Okay, uh… rambling. Okay. Just… call me back. And in case you seriously have lost your phone and had a memory wipe and don't remember my number anymore, it's 555-8732. And it's George - George O'Malley. Your best friend. Waiting not-so-patiently by his phone and staying up all night to make sure I don't miss your call."_

Twelfth message: _"Izzie! Seriously? It's been almost two weeks! What's going on? Why can't we come to you? Alex won't even talk to us anymore and George is seriously going to get an ulcer if he keeps worrying the way he is. Seriously. Call. Us. Now."_

* * *

Being in Davenport was like being a strange, protected and familiar bubble. Izzie could pretend she had no other problems to deal with except those pertaining to her mother's sudden death, which were more than enough. Here she was surrounded by people who also were feeling the loss and somehow that helped her grieve instead of making things worse like she'd thought she'd feel. People here knew, people here understood. They weren't just acquaintances and coworkers who felt bad for her but secretly were glad it wasn't them. They were grieving over the loss of Robbie too.

She felt guilty about not calling her friends back, aside from two quick phone calls when she knew they'd all be at work, first assuring them she wasn't dead and she'd come back eventually, and then asking them not to pursue her in Davenport. She couldn't face being unemployed just yet and she didn't want to hear them all assure her everything would be okay. It felt anything but okay and she had a hard time thinking it would get better anytime soon.

She hardly knew how she felt, in fact. As soon as she was around someone she knew in Davenport, she wanted to be alone. Then as soon as she was alone in the apartment that family friend Mr. Herman Wickenheimer was letting her stay in rent-free, she felt painfully alone and wished she had company. She appreciated the way she couldn't go anywhere in the small town without seeing someone she recognized, but she hated that she couldn't be anonymous. Everyone knew she was Robbie's daughter, the girl from the big city, the girl who'd lost her mom.

She was afraid of going to the funeral tomorrow by herself, afraid to go at all and have to let herself fully realize her mother was gone for good. The funeral would make it really final. A big "The End" stamp that was going hurt more than anything else had so far. She'd been to a few funerals in her life to know the feeling.

And though she was afraid of going alone, she couldn't bring herself to answer the phone when one of her friends called and ask any one of them, including her husband, to be by her side. She'd told them not to come in the first place, after all, thinking she wanted to deal with this on her own. She couldn't articulate why, but when she saw one of their numbers come up, she let her phone ring and then would guiltily listen to the worried voicemail they'd often leave.

It was one of those moments when she was sipping a cup of tea, feeling so alone and afraid of going to the funeral that her phone rang with a number she didn't recognize. She answered.

"Izzie? Thank _God_. Look, don't hang up."

Izzie sat up straight in surprise. "George? This isn't your number."

"Yeah, I know. I'm on a payphone. I really need a new phone, I think. It died again. And I lost my car charger, so I couldn't charge it in the car. Anyways, um. I'm calling to say that uh, I'm here."

She wasn't sure what he meant. Here, as in he was always there for her and wanted to talk? Here, as in... She dismissed the idea before it even fully formed. It was almost a four hour drive and unlike her, George had a job.

"Izzie?"

"I'm still here."

"Oh, okay. You were just... quiet." He cleared his throat. "Did you hear me? I said I'm here. In Davenport, I mean. I'm outside, uh... Barbara's... Fashion and... Physiotherapy? Really? Wow. That's uh, quite a unique combination."

He couldn't see it, but already in just a few seconds from talking to him, he'd made her smile. Her eyes became watery and she could hardly believe he'd just driven all the way to Davenport for her, even after she'd asked none of them to come, and he hadn't even called in advance to ask if she maybe had changed her mind. She sniffled loudly without meaning to.

"You okay?"

"You came."

"You're my person." He said matter-of-factly. "I should've come sooner, but they, um, kept convincing me to actually listen to you. And I know you said not to, but… I couldn't let you do this alone."

She wiped her eyes and wished she could hug George right at that moment just for being George.

"Do you wanna tell me where you are? And actually, the sooner the better - this thing's starting to yell at me for more money."

Izzie quickly told him the address and he barely had time to say goodbye and that he'd be right there before they were disconnected.

She hung up her phone and leaned back into the old couch, hardly daring to believe George was really here in Davenport. She wouldn't have to go the funeral alone after all.

* * *

When George arrived, the first thing he did was wrap Izzie in a tight embrace. She buried her face in his shoulder and held onto him tight.

"You didn't have to try and do this alone." He said in her ear.

Following that, Izzie's world got a whole lot brighter, if only for a few hours. George proceeded to empty the contents of a large grocery bag in the kitchen and make his homemade hot chocolate. He asked her to pick a movie to watch from the ones he'd brought with him which were half a dozen of her very favorites. He told her funny stories or interesting stories about things that happened at the hospital while she was gone. The setting had changed, but it felt very much like a regular weekend from the months where she wasn't working at the hospital. She knew he wanted to know why she'd asked them not to come after her, why she refused to call them, and more, but he never pressed her and for that she was extremely grateful.

* * *

The next morning was the day of the funeral. Izzie moved about the apartment in a strange state of numbness. She barely spoke and couldn't take her mind off of the idea that she was burying her mother today. Her mother who hadn't been very old, who hadn't died of old age, who'd been healthy and vibrant and still died of natural causes.

"You ready to go?" George poked his head in her room, dressed in a handsome dark suit that made his blue eyes stand out vividly.

Her hands were shaking so bad she couldn't do up the buttons on her long black coat and without a word George moved forward and helped her.

"I can't do this, George. I can't be there and hear everyone say they're sorry, and…" She wiped her eyes fiercely. "I can't, I _can't_ …"

"Hey," he held her hands tight and looked her in the eye. "Remember how I was before Dad's funeral? I couldn't do it either. But you… you were there. And you told me I could. This is like that. Except - except now I'm going to be there for _you_. You _can_ do this. You're strong. And it won't seem like it now, and it won't seem like it for a while… but you'll make it. You'll make it to the other side of this. Okay?"

She nodded and he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Let's go."

* * *

She'd expected to cry more.

As the coffin was laid down into the ground, as the preacher gave his comforting words, as a few family members said a quick and emotional goodbye, her tears did no more than hover and threaten to spill out. She reasoned she was probably cried out, having spent the better part of the past two weeks alternating between crying heavily and stoically refusing to cry any longer. Now she was simply numb.

George stayed right beside her and whenever she felt an overwhelming wave of emotion threaten to take her down, she'd glance his way and he'd offer her a faint, warm smile that strengthened her. She remembered doing the same thing to him at his father's funeral.

The reception following the funeral was almost as hard if not harder than the funeral itself. People came in waves to offer their condolences and memories of her mother. Izzie found it extremely difficult to have to stand there and thank them and try and find words to offer back to form some sort of a conversation. George once again remained by her side, leaving only once in a while to refill Izzie's punch or their plates with the little appetizers someone had brought.

"Ah, so this is your husband?" Mrs. Regina Hildebrandt, a good friend and neighbor of Robbie's, commented with a wide grin when she approached George and Izzie. She was in her early sixties but looked like she was more likely in her eighties due to a lifetime of smoking. "Isn't he just a handsome fella!"

George choked on his punch and reddened and Izzie chuckled uncomfortably.

"No, sorry, Mrs. Hildebrandt. He's not my, um… no, he's – "

"Best friend." George recovered and filled in hastily.

"Oh." Mrs. Hildebrandt looked very disappointed at once.

"Yes, he's my best friend. My husband is Alex Karev. He's, uh, back in Seattle. He…" Izzie struggled. What reason was good enough for a husband not to be here for his wife? "He was just, um, unable to make it. Today."

Mrs. Hildebrandt looked skeptically at George but her expression cleared as she turned back to Izzie. "Of course. Well, see you around, dear."

Izzie gave the older woman a quick hug before Mrs. Hildebrandt headed off to talk to others.

"That was awkward." George commented with a wry smile.

Mrs. Hildebrandt didn't end up being the only one who assumed George was in fact Izzie's husband. At least four or five separate people had similar awkward conversations with Izzie who couldn't find a specific reason for why Alex wasn't there and George was instead.

 _Because you told him not to be,_ a voice inside said. _Because you never called him back or talked to him or anything._

She couldn't be angry with him for not deducing that she secretly wanted him here after she specifically said she wanted them all to stay in Seattle. And yet, as the latest person asking her where her husband was walked away, she found herself growing increasingly frustrated with Alex.

 _He should be here._ She thought. _He should've come for me. That's what husbands do._

 _You told him not to._ The little voice reminded her firmly and she had no counter argument.

* * *

When they got back to the apartment following the funeral, Izzie went to her room to change and George promptly set about starting to cook them supper.

She sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, feeling like a milkshake of emotions. She wanted to be angry with Alex for not coming, she wanted to burst into tears, she wanted to scream and throw things, she wanted to curl up in a ball under the covers and never come out. Tears began pooling in her eyes, blurring her vision and she sat quite still, trying to get a handle on herself.

George came in some time later, concerned by the amount of time she'd spent in her room with no sound of movement happening. "Iz? Oh, hey…" He quickly sat down beside her and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. "It's a lot, I know. It's a lot."

She looked up at him with wet eyelashes. "Why did you come? Why didn't anyone else come? I told you not to and you came anyway. Why?"

George half-smiled. "Because I like to think I know you pretty good. And you're all about doing it on your own, whether you think you can or not. And… I was there: a death of a parent - it isn't something you do alone. It's too big. So I came anyway."

More tears began to slide down Izzie's cheeks. She was completely raw and it was too much, it was all _too much_ …

Hardly without thinking she tipped her head up and met George's lips.

He pulled back too quickly, looking startled with flushed cheeks. "Izzie…"

"You're so good to me," she croaked. "George, please." She leaned forward to kiss him again but he leaned back shaking his head.

"I can't. We can't. Izzie, you are not… You're just really emotional right now. We – you…" George fumbled for words and then stood up, putting a little distance between them. "You don't really want this."

Immediately feeling shameful and embarrassed by her actions, Izzie turned her gaze downwards and covered her burning face with her hands. She was so emotional and conflicted inside because of everything that had happened in her life recently she didn't know _what_ she wanted. Making her best friend extremely uncomfortable was certainly not one of them, however.

"I'm sorry." She whispered, her cheeks on fire. She didn't even know what had made her kiss him like that.

"It's okay." George answered. He moved close to her, gently taking her hands away from her face so he could look her in the eye. "Grief does weird things to people. It's okay." He offered her a small smile.

She was about to reply when she realized she smelt something very strange. "George, is something burning?"

George swore and jumped up, running to the kitchen where he'd accidentally left a pan of stir fry on the stove. Izzie couldn't help a small giggle as she proceeded to get out of her funeral clothes and into something more casual and comfortable. George called out a few moments later that they wouldn't be having stir fry that night after all.


	5. Unlike Me

_All I know is  
That I'm here;  
Don't know for how long...  
-Kate Havnevik_

* * *

"Hello?"

"Hey sweetie, it's Uncle Rick. How're you feelin'?"

"As well as can be expected."

"I hear you." Uncle Rick agreed. "Well, just callin' to let you that we've got the lawyer comin' and we're going to have the will readin' this afternoon, right after lunch."

"Thanks. I'll be there."

Izzie and Uncle Rick talked for a few more minutes before she hung up and then tried to prepare herself for the next difficult step in dealing with her mother's death.

"Everything alright?" George asked.

"The will." She answered and sat down on the couch beside him.

He nodded with a heavy sigh and then went to the kitchen to get himself something to drink.

She could see he was trying to act normal and supportive as usual, but her kissing him the previous night was bothering him too. It created a weird sort of bubble of awkwardness between them that wouldn't dissipate and she didn't know what to do about it because they were never awkward with each other. She was sorry she was the cause of the unease and wished she could stop replaying the kiss in her mind. She had too much else to think about.

* * *

The will reading was a fairly quick event. The will was several years old, drawn up when Robbie had gotten it into her head that she had to have a will after a friend of hers had died cliff diving in Mexico. Izzie had argued she was too young to be thinking about things like that and besides, it wasn't like Robbie was going cliff diving any time soon. Still, Robbie had been persistent and Izzie was now glad she hadn't talked her mother out of it.

There wasn't much to divide as Robbie had never had much. Most of her possessions were given to Mrs. Hildebrandt and other good friends and neighbors, though the responsibility of dividing and making decisions was left to her brother Rick. Her money and account information was to be given to Izzie, as well as a cabin on a lake outside of town that Robbie's parents had once passed on to her. Izzie and Robbie used to go "camping" up at the cabin in the summers, though in recent years it'd been mostly rented out or used by Rick's kids and grandkids.

Following all the paper signing and other legal things, Uncle Rick suggested that maybe Izzie get out of town and spend a few days up at the cabin, especially since it was now technically hers. He told her the fresh air would do her good and she agreed.

* * *

The drive wasn't too long (a solid forty-five or so minutes) and for the most part it was quite pleasant. The scenery was green and lovely with lots of trees, fields and streams. She and George talked for some of the trip and lapsed into comfortable silence at other times. The only uneasy moment came up when a song came on the radio that forced the pair to be reminded of the previous night's kiss.

" _There's a different feel about you tonight  
It's got me thinkin' lots of crazy things  
I even think I saw a flash of light_ _  
It felt like electricity_

 _You shouldn't kiss me like this  
Unless you mean it like that  
Cause I'll just close my eyes_ _  
And I won't know where I'm at…"_

Izzie stabbed the channel changer as George shifted in his seat and neither was able to speak for a while, until several other songs on a different channel had gone by and they were able to change the subject in their mind.

* * *

"So this is _the_ cabin, huh?" George stepped out of his old Jeep and admired the small wooden structure before him.

Izzie smiled. "Yup. _The_ cabin."

She'd told George many stories about her summers here, the people she'd met, the things her mother and her had done together while staying here. Izzie had a lot of fond memories of this cabin and had always promised that someday she and George would have to take a road trip and see it.

"It's not totally what I pictured." George looked at the cabin and its surroundings critically.

"Really? What were you expecting?"

"Well, for one… this welcome mat." He gestured to the moth-eaten brown mat on the ground before cabin's door. "You never mentioned it."

She laughed.

"And… the woodpile. Did you and your mom really, uh, chop wood when you were here? I can't really picture your mom wielding an axe."

"No," She laughed again. "It was the summer, George, we didn't need to use the wood. We never chopped a single log."

"That makes sense." He took a deep breath of fresh air as he turned his back to the cabin and looked out over the wide glistening lake, a few hundred feet from the dirt driveway where he'd parked his Jeep. "And the view. You never mentioned how far away all the other lakeside cabins are."

"I told you it was quiet and beautiful here, didn't I?"

George chuckled. "You did. Numerous times."

The pair brought their bags inside. Izzie fixed up the master bed for herself and George, but he insisted he'd sleep on the couch, as he was only planning to stay another day or two.

"Oh come on, we used to sleep in the same bed all the time," Izzie rolled her eyes at George who tossed his pillow and blanket onto the old reddish colored couch that was probably brand new in 1977.

"That was before you were married." George countered with an odd sort of strained smile.

"It's not like we're going to do anything, George." Izzie teased. Except as soon as the words left her mouth, she thought of her kissing George the previous day again and that weird awkwardness descended between them instantly. A solid minute or two passed where they couldn't look each other in the eye and her cheeks felt hot and neither of them spoke.

Finally, George broke the uncomfortable silence, wisely choosing to change the subject. "So, uh, with no internet or cable, what do the natives do here for fun?"

* * *

Izzie taught George how to play several card games and proceeded to beat him at most of them. He complained loudly about how there was supposed to be such a thing as beginner's luck and how she should be going easy on him because he was learning. She countered that she was never good at mercy when it came to competitions and promised she'd try not to _completely_ cream him at everything.

Izzie made them chili for supper and George picked the movie to watch while they ate. It turned out to be a wildly over the top and extremely amusing comedy, though they were pretty sure the filmmakers had intended it to be some sort of thrilling drama. After that, they proceeded to talk long into the night about various things (nothing too serious) and then turned into their respective beds around three in the morning.

When George awoke just a couple hours later to the sound of quiet crying, he wordlessly went into the master bedroom and lay down beside Izzie, wrapping his arms around her. He sadly recalled when he'd done the same thing several times when Izzie had been mourning the loss of Denny and wondered why so many horrible things had to happen to one person like this.

* * *

"Mmm, smells wonderful."

"Morning, Iz." George smiled and continued cooking the bacon.

He wasn't really ever a morning person, but since he'd made it his personal mission to completely take care of Izzie while he was away from Seattle like this, he'd taken it upon himself to get up before her and make breakfast. This morning he'd even had to take the forty-five minute drive back to Davenport to buy groceries, as they had both completely forgotten to get anything besides some random supper-making items and junk food before they came.

Izzie eyed the full orange juice and milk containers on the table and then George. "Did you seriously drive all the way to town for this stuff?"

He put the lid on the bacon pan and nodded. "You were, uh, supposed to be in bed a little longer so I could do the, um, the whole breakfast in bed thing."

She smiled. "You're amazing, George."

He chuckled. "I know."

The pair enjoyed the small breakfast George had prepared and went for a long walk by the lake. When they returned, they watched another movie from the cabin's small collection of videos which was only marginally better than first one they'd watched. When it ended, Izzie was snuggled under a blanket against George and both were too comfortable to get up to turn it off. They watched the credits roll by until it was just black screen and then became a blue screen when the VCR stopped.

Though he hardly wanted to bring up the awkwardness that had finally seemed to have disappeared between them, he knew they needed to talk about it. He struggled with how to bring it up.

Did he just ask her about it straight out? Was there a way to ease into it? He wondered if she'd noticed how difficult it had been for him to pull away and if that was why she couldn't seem to look at him when that kiss was on her mind.

Finally he decided there was really no easy way to go about it, only that he needed to make sure they were okay. He didn't want them to have this proverbial elephant in the room every time they got together from here on out.

"So… " He cleared his throat uneasily. "Are we going to talk about… you know. The, um, kiss?"

At first he simply felt her stiffen beside him, and then she offered no verbal reply, so he asked her again.

"Iz? Can we, uh, talk about it?"

She sat up with a small sigh. "I'd rather not."

"We just… I think we… should."

Izzie shook her head. "It shouldn't have happened. That's it."

"But it did."

"Well, forget about it." She stood suddenly, dumping the blanket she'd previously been wrapped in onto his lap and trying not to let him see her face. Her cheeks were flushed. "I have." She turned away from him and headed into the master bedroom.

He stood and followed, undeterred. "Then why are your cheeks red?"

"It's hot in here." She snapped, her back still to him.

"It's freezing. Come on Iz, let's talk about this. I - "

"There's nothing to talk about!" Izzie rounded on him. "Why are you pushing this?"

"I'm not pushing, I just want to know – "

"Look, forget it ever happened, okay? I don't know what I was thinking – I _wasn't_ thinking. That's it."

"I can't just forget it ever happened - "

"Try." She tried to make herself busy by fluffing up the pillows and he caught her arm.

"Why are you getting so angry about this?" He asked, searching her features for clues to her thoughts but she was completely closed off. "What's going on?"

"My mom died, George! That's what's going on!"

"Hey, don't do that! I'm just trying to figure out where you're coming from." He said, his voice rising. He'd just been trying to clear things up, not start an argument. "And – and you don't need to make it sound like… like kissing me is the worst thing in – in the world. You used to enjoy it once, you know."

"Yeah, well, that was a long time ago." Izzie snapped.

* * *

Izzie didn't let her gaze waver even though she saw a flash of hurt cross George's face. She opened her mouth to take back her angry remark a moment later when George scrunched his brows together in irritation and he shot back,

"Yeah, right, a long time ago. Long before you and Alex achieved your - your wedded _bliss_. We – I was just a flash in the pan for you, wasn't I."

She glared at him. "Don't you dare – _we_ broke up. _You_ thought we were better as friends. Don't you make it sound like that!"

She suddenly felt a surge of anger at him. Why did he bring the kiss up? Why was he dragging Alex into this? Why couldn't they just have a fun few days at the cabin? _Why_ were they fighting?

"God, George - it was just a kiss! Why can't you let it go? Just _forget_ it!"

"Because I'm still in love with you!" he burst out.

His words rang in the room and she had no reply to his confession. Her anger was replaced completely by shock.

"I... I'm still in love with you, Izzie." He said, much softer this time. She could see immediately: he had not meant to say those words in the slightest. But now he had, and he couldn't take them back, especially when they were true.

Silence stretched between as he sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at the floor and she stood stock still, her heart hammering in her chest, trying to digest this new piece of information, their argument already half-forgotten.

Finally she asked, "How long?"

He sort of shrugged, his gaze not leaving the floorboards. "A while."

"Why... why didn't you say anything sooner?"

"You were with Alex. I... You were happy. I didn't need to wreck it by confusing you."

 _You were happy._ His words echoed in her mind and she thought of all the fighting between her and Alex the last few months. Happy. Right.

"Why didn't you say anything?" She pressed again, a different sort of anger rising in her this time. "Why did we break up then, if that's how you feel?"

He snapped his gaze to her. "Look, what I said at the time, I meant. I-I wanted a marriage that would work and we weren't working. I don't know why, but we werent. So I said - "

"So you said maybe someday - "

"Yeah, I said maybe _someday_ and you _agreed_ with me, and we danced and we went back to being best friends. And - and by the time I figured out that us breaking up was the worst – was the wrong thing to do… you… you were with Alex."

She finally understood why there seemed to be a bitter edge to his voice whenever he talked about Alex. She understood that when he'd told her all those months ago that he "still cared" and he was always there for her, he hadn't meant in a platonic sense. She understood the way he'd looked at her when he'd helped her down the aisle when she married Alex.

He was still in love with her.

He stood up, taking a few steps towards her. "It was _over_. It _is_ over. And it's my fault for not figuring this out sooner."

She shook her head. "It wasn't over. It wasn't over for me either."

"You married Alex, Izzie. That's about as over as it gets."

"It's not over." She abruptly closed the distance between them and kissed him hard.

This time he didn't have the will pull away or to stop her. This time they weren't drunk and she wasn't vulnerable and grief-stricken. This time they shut off the part of their brain that told them to stop.

He kissed her back just as passionately and they tumbled onto the bed together.


	6. One Last Chance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: I apologize because I managed to first upload chapters of a different story onto this one, and then instead of deleting them, I managed to delete the entire story. Wow. Um, still learning with this site... here's the new chapter of this story! For sure this time!
> 
> Also, for the record, I didn't like that George and Izzie's romance got started on an affair way back when. And I know they seem to be in the middle of another one now, so just trust me and don't call me a raving hypocrite *just* yet. ;P

* * *

_I can't lose no more time, it's now or never and I try to remember who I used to be…  
-James Morrison_

* * *

When George first opened his eyes, his very first thought was about how much he'd missed waking up next to Izzie. This was quickly chased away by a boatload of guilt, however, and a nasty churning feeling in his stomach that made him wish he could simply hide under the covers and never come out.

 _What have we done?_ He thought, feeling shaky.

He climbed out of the bed slowly, careful not to wake Izzie, got dressed and then went to sit in the living room with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

He couldn't believe they were here, like this, again. It wasn't _that_ long ago when he'd been the married one and they'd fallen into bed together (albeit very drunk). Yes, he was still in love with her, but she was married. And he wasn't the guy who had affairs.

 _Except that's twice now_. He reminded himself bitterly. What kind of a person was he?

He couldn't believe he'd let himself do anything. He was in love with her, sure, but she was married to someone else. He should've stopped her, pulled back, something. He was angry he'd let this happen, especially when Izzie was already in such a fragile state because of all the things going wrong in her life. The last she needed was him complicating things further.

 _Idiot, O'Malley,_ he chided, feeling rather equivalent to pond scum at that moment.

So what now? Did they go back to Seattle and proceed to wreck Alex's life just as they'd wrecked Callie's? Then they'd get together, fall apart, break-up, move on… Would they keep coming back to each other like this? Were they destined to fail or break other people?

He couldn't buy it. He couldn't buy that this was the way they were supposed to be. This love that they realized at the wrong time, when it was too late. He couldn't believe that they were destined to do this painful back and forth.

But right now, he couldn't believe they were meant to be together either. She was _married_. He didn't like having to be apart from her, having to see her with someone else (hated it, in fact) but she wasn't some forbidden fruit he could just have a bite of when his will power failed. And she wasn't the one who'd admitted to still being in love with him - he was the one in love with her.

She didn't choose him, she chose Alex. That was that.

He was on the other side of the affair now, the newest inductee into the unofficial Dirty Mistress Club. It didn't make it any easier to see what the right thing to do was. It was something he'd honestly been contemplating for quite some time now and this was another reason to do it: he was not going to help destroy another marriage.

With glistening eyes, George scooped up his Jeep keys, scribbled a quick note to Izzie and left the cabin.

* * *

"George?"

Izzie glanced blearily around the bedroom, squinting as the sunlight poured in the window. She sat up and saw her clothes still laying where they'd been thrown the previous night and couldn't stop the wave of deep, horrible guilt that pounded through her at the sight. She forced it away for now, refusing to deal with the realities of her actions just yet.

"George?" She tried again, not hearing any movement in the cabin and wondering if he'd gone outside.

She threw on some clothes and padded into the living room/kitchen of the cabin and then spotted the note laying on the coffee table.

 _Be back soon_

 _-George_

She wondered where he'd gone, but guessed he must've gone to Davenport for groceries. They were out of coffee already and they'd finished up the last of the chips and apples. She hoped he got back quickly, as she not only wanted to talk to him about last night, she didn't want to have to be alone with her own thoughts too long.

Memories of when George had been married to Callie bombarded her with painful clarity and she remembered too well how deeply they'd hurt Callie with their affair. She'd really, truly loved George and they had wrecked that, had wrecked her. Was she now going to do that to Alex too? He'd talked once about how all the women in his life he cared about left or went crazy, and she'd already done the crazy part when her cancer had hit.

She let her eyes reluctantly land on her wedding ring and the sight of it made her feel worse.

"How marriages do you need to wreck before you're happy, Izzie Stevens?" she whispered aloud crossly, a few tears escaping their boundaries onto her cheeks. "One wasn't enough?"

With an angry swipe at her wet eyes, she stuck a movie into the VCR and did her best to distract herself until George got back.

* * *

When he got back to the cabin several hours later, she wasted no time in trying to talk to him.

"Look, George, about last night - "

"I joined the army."

"I – you _what_?"

He, in turn, wasted no time explaining where he'd been all morning. "I drove to Davenport and signed up at the local office. I leave in a few days. I'm doing the rest of the official stuff when I get back to Seattle tomorrow."

She gaped at him, reeling from what he'd just said.

"They already gave me a pair of dog tags and everything." He fished in his jacket pocket for a moment before pulling out a chain with a pair of army tags on the end, his full name and other information embossed in them. He held them out to her and she gingerly took them.

"You… joined… the _army_." She finally managed, then repeated angrily, "You joined the _army_!"

He didn't have time to form a proper reply before she plowed on heatedly.

"What the hell, George? Last time we mistakenly slept together you wanted to transfer to Mercy West, and now this time you're leaving the _country_? Is that all you can do – run away from the situation?"

"I'm not – I'm – It's not like that!"

"Then what _is_ it like? Because that's sure what it looks like. And if you think for one second, that I'm going to let you do this – "

" _Let_ me? If you – if you're going to _let_ me? It's done – I've signed up, I'm going and you – you sure as hell can't stop me." He turned for the door, his cheeks flushed with anger but she caught his arm and her voice immediately turned from anger to pleading.

"No, George, wait. Please. Don't go."

He turned back to her, pained. "I have to. I can't… I _can't_ destroy another marriage - another person. And I can't…" He shook his head. "I can't stand seeing you with someone else anymore."

"George…"

"And I'm sorry about last night." He said sadly. "I shouldn't have… it shouldn't have happened. I'm sorry. Iz, I'm so sorry."

There was a large pause before George spoke again, more sadly than before.

"It's not just you, okay? I've been thinking about this for a while. Back at the hospital… aside from Hunt, no one... no one even notices I do anything worthwhile. I run labs, I run the clinic, I handle the pit practically by myself for days on end. I don't get asked to scrub in anymore, I don't get unusual cases. I – I'm invisible."

Her eyes burned as she heard the pain in his voice.

"I can't take being the errand boy – it's like everybody stills sees me as – as 007, or some stupid green intern. No matter how many times I prove myself, no matter what I do right. Oh, give that to – to Meredith or Cristina, or Alex, because _O'Malley_ couldn't handle it. I feel like I'm wallpaper – I'm disappearing, even around the others." He paused, taking a few breaths before slowly meeting her deep brown eyes with his own blue ones. "So I'm going overseas so I can really make a difference, and I… somewhere where I won't… where I won't be invisible anymore. Where I won't feel like I'm disappearing completely."

He wanted her to understand why he was doing this, that it wasn't her fault. She could barely make out the details of his face as her vision blurred and she pulled him into a tight embrace. More than anything she couldn't bear to lose him and him joining the army and going overseas was almost too frightening for her to imagine. What if something were to happen…?

Except she understood too well what he meant when he said he felt like he was disappearing. She didn't want him to go, she didn't want to have to simply bury their "mistake" of last night, but he was right: they couldn't wreck another person. She couldn't hurt Alex like that.

"Be careful." She finally whispered tearfully.

He hugged her back. "Don't worry. I'll come back."

* * *

Before George left the cabin, he told Izzie that she needed to go back to Seattle. Now that her mother's funeral was over and the legal things were being taken care of by Uncle Rick, there was no reason for her to stay any longer, especially when she had a worried husband waiting for her. She agreed, though she felt a great amount of trepidation about returning and she wasn't entirely sure why, though she figured it had a lot to do with the obvious: the fact that she'd cheated on Alex with George.

The pair decided that sleeping together had been a big mistake – a big, complicated, emotional mistake – that they would simply have to bury. There was no other way around it. And with one last tight embrace and a promise that he would be in touch very soon, George left.

* * *

Izzie remained at the cabin for another few days after George departed, simply relaxing and trying to collect her thoughts and emotions, which wasn't an easy task. It was wrong that sleeping with George had been so easy, when she'd been so sure she was long over him.

She thought of him often, of course, and he was the first person she wanted to go to when she needed help or advice, he was the first person she thought of when she heard a funny story, he was the first person she couldn't wait to see when all of her friends got home from work. But she'd always reasoned that it was because he was her best friend – best friends were like that, right?

Yet she was the one who'd initiated the kiss, back in the apartment after the funeral (but she'd been overwhelmed and grief-stricken and George was sweet and available, she'd reasoned) and then again last night (but he'd just confessed he was still in love with her!). So if she was so sure that the way she felt about him was just best friend stuff, why had _she_ been the one to kiss _him_? And though she felt plenty guilty about cheating on Alex, and loved him (she'd married him after all, hadn't she?), why had she wanted so badly to talk to George and had been entertaining thoughts all morning about being with George over Alex?

She forcefully shook her head trying to banish thoughts of George. He was gone, it was a mistake, that was that. It was over – once again – for them. And it was past time she return to her other friends and her husband.

* * *

"Izzie! Oh my God, you're back." Meredith was grinning from ear to ear in relief as Izzie came in the door of Meredith's house with her small suitcase.

Cristina was right behind her, looking calm and unsurprised to see her friend.

"How are you? Are you okay?" asked Meredith.

"I'm fine. Everything's fine." Izzie assured her, though she hardly felt okay.

"So what was the grand total of voicemails? Eighty? Five Hundred?" Cristina questioned, her arms crossed over her chest. "Just ball-parking."

Meredith rolled her eyes. "Cristina, stop it, we weren't _that_ bad."

"You were pretty bad." Izzie chuckled.

"Well, we wouldn't have to be calling you constantly if you would just talk to us!" Meredith countered. "What was up with that, by the way? No phone service where you were staying?"

Izzie winced guiltily. "I'm sorry I made you guys crazy. It's just… I was… Everything was just too much. Way too much, all at the same time. I wasn't handling it well and…"

"Hey," Meredith rested her hand on Izzie's arm. "As the queen of mommy issues, daddy issues, trust issues, commitment issues – "

"Issues in general." Cristina supplied.

"Issues in general, yes. You don't have to explain it to me." She offered Izzie a smile which she returned.

"Where's Alex?" Izzie asked, noting that Cristina and Meredith seemed to be the only people home.

"Probably at the trailer," said Cristina. "He got weird when you left. Like anti-social and snappy. More than usual."

"He kinda stopped coming over."

Izzie shifted uneasily, knowing it was her fault. She was still sort of dreading facing him, worried about what his reaction might be to seeing her back and what he'd have to say about her leaving suddenly like that with almost no contact for almost a month.

Meredith informed her that she and Cristina were just about to have supper, and that their respective boyfriends were working on a major trauma case at the hospital so they wouldn't be joining them. Izzie accepted, silently glad to put off seeing Alex for just a bit longer.

Once they were in the kitchen, talk turned to George joining the army. Cristina made several cracks about George's lack of skill and how he'd more likely end up shooting himself in the foot than doing any good, to which Izzie passionately defended his choice. Cristina backed off and Meredith chipped in that she was just scared for him, being close to danger and action. They spent a good while talking about George and how he'd come by earlier the previous day to hand in his resignation at the hospital. Bailey had yelled, Chief hadn't been terribly pleased, Callie tried to talk him out of it, Lexie had been shocked, Hunt had been proud but worried for him and George hadn't budged an inch. He was going and he'd be back some time to visit. He'd then come over for a short farewell dinner with Owen, Cristina, Derek, Meredith, and Alex, who'd merely shook George's hand and uncharacteristically not offered up any snide opinion on the situation.

By about nine o'clock in the evening, Izzie knew she couldn't avoid her husband any longer and bid the other two good night.

* * *

He was inside the trailer when she got there, his back to the door and a pile of papers spread out in front of him. He started when she opened the door and his expression went from surprise to relief to anger in about one second and then she saw him close off.

He stood up and she hugged him.

"I missed you." she said.

He didn't raise his arms to hug her back but merely stood there with her arms around him. She pulled back slightly to look at him, concerned by his stillness. He simply pushed past her without a word and went outside, flinging the trailer door open with a loud bang.

"Alex – " She followed him as stormed across the small porch.

"Don't." He snapped.

"If you'd just – "

"I said _don't_." He whirled around to face her. "You can't disappear for a month, refuse to call me back and then expect me to be overjoyed to see you. Especially when I know O'Malley went after you - because it's apparently okay for _him_ to go see you but not for your damn _husband_."

He stomped down the porch steps towards his car.

"Alex, it wasn't - where are you going?"

He said snidely, "Away. Maybe I'll decide to call you a few weeks from now and remind you not to come find me." He slammed the car door shut and proceeded to peel out of the driveway.

Izzie watched him go, feeling like there was a large rock in her stomach. She supposed maybe she deserved that a little, for she had treated Alex unfairly in this instance. That didn't mean it didn't hurt, or that she didn't have a reason for it.

* * *

She didn't know exactly what time it was, but it was several hours since he'd left when Alex finally came stumbling into the trailer. She pretended to be asleep as he laid down on the bed beside her until he gently shook her shoulder.

"Izzie..." he whispered. "I'm sorry."

He stank of alcohol and she guessed that the headlights now leaving the yard were those of his designated driver.

"I... I thought you'd left me..." He slurred. "Really... _left_ me."

There was a long pause before she quietly replied, "I'm sorry too." She didn't specify what for.

He slid his arm around her waist and fell asleep on top of the blankets moments later still wearing the clothes he'd worn to who-knows-what bar. She lay awake for a long time after that.


	7. Fall Away

_You fall away from your past  
But it's following you…  
-The Fray_

* * *

 _Two months later_

When Meredith came home that night with Derek, Lexie and Mark trailing in behind her, Izzie greeted them all brightly and then returned to the kitchen to finish carving the roast she'd made.

"Izzie, my God, you've got to stop cooking such amazing food!" Meredith half-heartedly protested moments later as she entered the kitchen and saw the spread of delicious looking things across the kitchen table.

Mark was staring in awe and his stomach began rumbling immediately.

"She's trying to make us fat," Derek joked.

"What's the special occasion?" asked Lexie.

"Um... it's... a Wednesday," replied Izzie as she set a plate of roast down in the middle of the table.

"She's bored." Meredith supplied.

Mark inhaled the extremely appetizing smells around him and said, "I love that you're bored."

Once everyone was seated, the group said a quick grace and began to dig in.

She liked cooking for everyone and especially the nights when it was more than just Meredith and Derek, but in truth the thing she wanted to be doing more than anything was working at the hospital again. She was taking it slow, getting back on her feet since her mom's death. That didn't mean she enjoyed it.

The hardest part of not working at the hospital was listening to everyone she knew talk about it. All of her friends worked there – it was their life. It just wasn't hers anymore. So while she drank up every word, she still yearned to be the one telling the stories of the severed hand or the pitchfork through some guy's stomach.

"It was amazing. All the way through!" Lexie gestured with her fork.

"I still say the wife did it," said Mark.

"Oh stop." Meredith shook her head. "He totally fell, just like he said. You saw how drunk he was when he came in. Besides, the way it was lodged in him like that, he had to have fallen on it."

"I also heard him telling the guy in the bed next to him how hot his young new farm assistant is." Mark raised his eyebrow suggestively and took a swig of beer before adding, "And the wife easily could have thrust it upwards like that to make it look like an accident."

"But why would he lie then, if it was her?" Lexie questioned.

"People are crazy, how should I know?"

The conversation had inevitably come to what everyone's day had been like and what cases they had worked on. They talked for quite some time about Pitchfork Guy and Izzie listened quietly, wishing more than anything that she'd been the one to extricate the pitchfork and stitch him up instead of the others. Derek then proceeded to tell them all about his brain hemorrhaging case, who was lucky to be alive, and Meredith talked about Mrs. Lyden in 24C who apparently had scurvy.

Izzie eventually rose to clear the table before they decided to ask her about her day. She'd only be able to give them a boring (but true) answer anyway: she'd spent the morning in bed, she'd read more of this old mystery book from the library, came over to Meredith's house, made herself a tiny lunch, watched _Ellen_ , and then spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning and cooking.

It was a routine she'd developed when she was recovering from cancer - being in a sort of strange limbo where she had no idea what to do to occupy herself. She'd started and stopped various hobbies (she was tired of knitting, didn't like to draw and lost interest in scrapbooking too quickly), had become secretly addicted to several shows on daytime television (yelling out the prices while watching _The Price Is Right_ , for example) and hated this weird emptiness that took up so much of her life without her duties at the hospital. At least last time she'd been stuck at home she'd had a goal: get better, get stronger, get over cancer and get back to work. They'd been holding a job for her and they were in no rush to force her to come back. Now she had nothing, except to somehow wait this period out, until the Chief felt she was mentally healed enough to return to the hospital.

"Izzie, stop! You spent all day cooking, you're not clearing the table too," Meredith said abruptly when she heard Izzie put several plates into the sink.

"I can do it, Mer, I don't mind – "

"Not allowed." Meredith took the dirty silverware out Izzie's hand, who laughed as Lexie shooed her out of the kitchen area.

The guys headed to the living room with fresh bottles of beer after taking an obligatory few dishes to the counter and sink.

"Have you heard from George?" Lexie asked.

Izzie shook her head. "Not since Sunday."

The three girls chatted about this and that and as the Grey sisters were finishing up with the dishes, Lexie suggested they break out a card game of some kind. Meredith liked the idea as she hadn't played any games in a long time, but Izzie declined.

"Actually guys, I haven't been feeling well lately, so I'm going to pass. Mer, I'm going to crash upstairs for a bit before I head back to the trailer."

"Alright. Later, Iz."

Once upstairs, Izzie made herself comfortable in what used to be her room, but was now technically a guest room even though it still housed much of her stuff that couldn't fit into the small trailer. She retrieved her laptop from her desk and immediately checked her email, grinning the moment she spotted George's name in her inbox. She opened the email eagerly and began to read:

" _Hey Iz,_

 _You always ask me what's new exciting over here but in the span of a few days, nothing terribly new or exciting happens. Okay, I guess that it isn't true, because I'm basically living in a war zone, but you know what I mean._

 _I practically had to fight Trevor off for my turn on the computer. I've told you about how he likes to check his Facebook for hours on end, right? Well now he's added some gaming site to his list of things to do when he's on the computer. I really try not to take my day to use it the same day as him, but it seems to always happen that way anyway."_

Izzie smiled. Trevor was one of the other doctors that George worked with in his unit, and there was always something that Trevor was doing or not doing that annoyed the heck out of George. He was a lot younger than George and had apparently signed up almost completely straight out of med school, aside from about half a year at a small hospital in a town in North Dakota. He talked constantly, used by far the most time on the computer shared between several of the guys, and made mistakes while they were working too often. Many of the others were fed up with the kid and it sounded like he was soon going to get transferred to a smaller more inner city unit that saw less action.

" _Yesterday Anthony went out again on patrol. He says it's far scarier than anything he's ever had to do before, what with all the roadside bombs that seem to go off so regularly here. But you know Anthony - or, at least, from what I've told you. He always has to make a joke of it, saying stuff like that he thinks losing an arm would make his waist look smaller - stuff like that. Some the guys don't like the black humor, but Anthony's too good of guy, they can't really hate him."_

Anthony wasn't part of the medical team, but part of a unit of soldiers that based with George's med unit. From what George had told her through the various emails and brief phone conversations they'd managed to have, Anthony was probably his closet friend out there. He was British, loud and funny, always teasing everyone and always smiling. Everybody really enjoyed his company and he was a good morale booster, not to mention a courageous soldier. When attacks happened, he was usually the first guy to rush in and grab the wounded and send them back to the med unit where George worked.

She read on.

" _I've been up since way-too-early this morning, dealing with a group of severe injuries from a unit over 30 miles from here. They were hit with a late night attack while they were on a supply run and we were the closest med base. There were eight men in total and we lost one of them, with another likely on his way if his stats don't go up._

 _It's rough here, Iz. I know I've said that a lot lately, but it's just such a different way of doing things. I've never been in conditions like this, never practiced medicine like this. It's not like I was expecting to be in a brand new hospital with world class surgeons or anything, but I certainly wasn't expecting to be in large, structured tents and temporary buildings with generators for electricity out in the middle of damn nowhere._

 _Sorry to go on about the tough stuff. I'm just completely exhausted!_

 _Anyways._

 _I'm sorry to hear about you and Alex. I wish things were going better and I wish I could give you some sort of worthwhile advice to help fix this. The best I can say is that you and I both know Alex, and he'll eventually come around in his grudging Alex-way. You just keep being bright-and-shiny."_

She sighed heavily. Things between her and Alex had been rockier than ever. They'd both apologized, but she didn't think he'd really forgiven her – not based on the way he was acting, anyway. He was taking on more and more hours at the hospital, she was spending more and more time away from the trailer. Aside from obligatory greetings in the mornings, they hardly spoke. They still slept in the same bed for the most part, as if it was some sort of silent mandatory rule to show they were still attached to each other. But over the past couple of weeks, Alex had taken to staying at the hospital instead for a growing number of nights. She'd tried to ask him about it and he'd shut her down, saying it was just work and she should understand. And of course she did to some extent, but she didn't know how to fix the hard, cold distance between them.

" _Glad to hear everything else there is still normal. Keep hanging on, Iz. The Chief will come around soon. I've got to go - some of the guys are starting to get on my case about taking up so much time (even though I take probably a fraction the amount of time as Trevor)._

 _Talk to you soon._

 _Love, George"_

Izzie poised her hands to compose a reply and felt a wave of exhaustion come over her, followed by a gross, unsettled feeling in her stomach. She was pretty sure she was coming down with the flu, which annoyed her greatly as she hated being sick. With a small groan and a sigh, she shut down her laptop and decided to reply to George first thing in the morning.

* * *

" _C'mooon_ , O'Malley!"

"Alright, alright, I'm off!" George laughed as he closed his internet window after logging off and stood up.

"Who're you writing a novel to?" asked Pete, a tall, slim blonde man. He absently flipped a beat-up looking Zippo lighter open and closed.

"Was it your girlfriend again, O'Malley?" Anthony winked, his tan face crinkling. "You typing up sweet nothin's to 'er, mate?"

"She's not my girlfriend. She's my best friend, and she's married." George rolled his eyes.

"It's your mum, isn't it?" Anthony teased.

George chuckled. "Don't be jealous that I have someone _other_ than my, uh, my mom to write to."

Pete and Dean _ooed_.

"Off side," Anthony touched his chest pretending to be hurt. "O'Malley, I thought you were one of the good ones!" He shook his head and then quickly went for his breast pocket, pulling out a well worn photograph. In it was a slightly younger Anthony, with messy black hair and a wide grin, hugging a pale girl with long red hair smiling shyly at the camera, as if it had been a private moment interrupted by the click of a camera.

The other guys groaned.

"This is my lady - "

"Miss Annabelle Ruth Benford, the loveliest lass in all the world!" The guys chorused and then slapped Anthony's back good-naturedly.

"I see you've heard of 'er." He laughed, ignoring their jibes about how often he pulled out that photo to show off his fiancé back home. "Have I mentioned her before?"

"Only about seven – " started Dean.

"Hundred - " George chipped in.

"Times, a _day_." Pete finished.

Anthony waved them off. "Oh, sod off you lot."

The guys laughed and then let Anthony be as he sat down to take his turn on the computer and began his own lengthy email back home.

George took a few more moments to join in further teasing of Anthony before heading out of the Rec building.

It'd been just under two months now that George had been in Iraq and though he couldn't say he felt _used_ to it, it definitely felt right. He was scared a lot of the time, like when there were attacks nearby and he could hear massive explosions that rattled the barracks. He felt out of his element when there was a lot of downtime, as with little electronic means of entertainment and very few books to read, there was almost nothing to do. But it all fell into place when he was with the rest of his med unit in the med tents, rushing around and saving lives.

It was what he'd come here to do and… oh, _God_ did it feel so good to know he was finally making a difference. He didn't feel like wallpaper anymore, he wasn't a welcome mat for people to wipe their feet on. He was respected. He was no longer _disappearing_.

Back in Seattle, Hunt had said he had a natural talent for being calm under extreme pressure and George was learning that it was true and he was good at it. He could see what needed to be done and sometimes with so many injured, he didn't have the time or the resources to do the most glamorous or correct way to save a life. He did the way that would work. He remembered when Hunt had first come to Seattle, some of his methods had seemed so brutal or archaic. Now George understood those methods and was constantly thankful for Hunt's experience and mentoring. He figured he'd probably be more like Trevor who was inexperienced, nervous, stumbly and wide-eyed without it.

George made his way from the Rec building to the barracks, looking forward to some sleep even though it was pretty well lunch time. He'd been up at four that morning (after only three hours of sleep) with a wave of injured men and had finally gotten everything under control. Another thing he'd learned while being here is that everyone slept at any moment they could, as they didn't know the next time they'd have the chance.

"Hey O'Malley," Rich, a stocky soldier with buzzed hair, waved. "Heading to the barracks?"

Rich was part of Anthony's unit, the soldiers who shared the med base with George's med unit. He was good friends with Anthony before they came to Iraq and as a result of George becoming good friends with Anthony, he'd become good friends with Rich too.

George nodded. "Before I collapse on my feet." He smiled crookedly.

"I hear you - me too. I was out last night with the boys from C3, canvassing those caves 20 miles north of here. They got a report from John-Boy that there was activity up there, but we couldn't find anything. Didn't help 'course, our long-range radar went a little glitchy and shut down. We got back just before lunch, but Jackson wants to try again tomorrow with a better radar."

John-Boy was the nickname of one of the guys who supervised the radar sweeps. They kept several radar stations going constantly to be warned of any threat. He'd been named John-Boy because on one of the men's first nights in the barracks after the lights went out, he'd called out a good-night to everyone. Snickering ensued, followed by out right laughter as someone shouted, "Good-night, John-Boy!" like in the old TV show, _The Waltons_. George wasn't even sure what John-Boy's real name was.

"You been going straight since Monday? 'Cause you were out on patrol with, uh, Anthony Monday night."

Rich nodded. "Yeah, they had him go back to back nights. Rough - I hate patrol."

"I think everybody does."

"Oh, hey, George, a bunch of us guys were planning a big poker game Saturday night, barring any emergencies. You in?"

"Sure. As long as you promise not to take _all_ my money like last time."

Rich laughed. "It's not my fault you kinda suck at poker, O'Malley."

George couldn't deny it. Last time the guys had had a poker night in the Rec building, George had been basically wiped clean by Rich, Anthony and Jackson. Rich and Jackson were the best of the group and seemed to know exactly how to play Anthony. Anthony, in the mean time, bluffed convincingly enough that he beat out the rest of the guys.

Rich lowered his voice. "You know, I'll let you in on a bit of a secret. With Anthony, the louder and more confident he gets about his hand, the worse it is. He always thinks he can bluff his way through. It only works because the other guys think he's serious. Pete fidgets with that damn Zippo lighter in his pocket when he's got a good hand, but he stops and sets his hand on the table when he's bluffing."

"Oh ya? And what about you?"

"I'm just good." Rich grinned.

George chuckled then said, "I'll remember that, thanks."

Rich heaved a sigh a moment later and began, "I am _really_ looking forward to saying hello to my pillow…"

George nodded in agreement.

Just as the pair had just reached the barracks, however, a blaring _whoop_ noise came over the base speakers, followed by an officer's voice informing all medical personnel to report to the med tent, as they had several incoming wounded.

Rich slapped his friend on the back. "Ouch - tough luck, O'Malley. Catch you later."

"Later, Rich."

With a sigh, George hurried to the med tent. He'd really been looking forward to some sleep.

* * *

When Izzie woke up the next morning, she was hit such intense nausea she barely made it to the bathroom in time before she lost her stomach's meager contents. She felt like she'd barely slept at all and as she huddled shaking on the floor beside the toilet, she knew something was wrong. She wanted badly to believe it was the flu, but something told her it wasn't. This was different. And if she was truly being honest with herself, she had felt this same way before, a long time ago.

She didn't move for a long time, afraid to really think about the path her thoughts were taking her. Finally she couldn't take it any longer and retrieved a small box from the very back of the bathroom cupboard. It was a sort "In Case of Emergency" box that she and Meredith had bought ages ago in the drug store. Neither of them had had cause to open the box, until today.

A few moments later, with mounting trepidation she looked down at the stick in her quivering hands.

 _Positive._

She was pregnant.


	8. A Falling Through

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: This was a tough chapter, which I put a ton of work into, so hopefully it's a good one (it all comes down to this...!). I'm very interested to hear your thoughts, so I won't waste time rambling! Enjoy!
> 
> WARNING: Some violence and mild graphic images in this chapter (nothing too gory, but I thought it's better to warn than not). Also, I am not a doctor nor a soldier. I did do a fair bit of research for this whole story, but most of this is from my imagination combined with movies I've seen, so it likely won't be as realistic as I'd like it to be…

* * *

_Nothing I can do  
To bring you back again...  
-Ray LaMontagne_

* * *

She stared at the frightening white stick in her hand for a long time before proceeding to take another test, sure it had to be wrong. It was a mistake, she couldn't be, she had the flu, she…

But that one was positive too.

She paced the small bathroom with shaky legs, her mind racing. How could this _happen_? After all her chemo and radiation, they'd basically told her it'd be extremely difficult if not impossible to conceive. She'd resigned herself to the fact that if she was ever going to have a child, it would be through adoption. And yet here she was, pregnant. How the _hell_ could this happen?

Then there was the question of who the father was. She knew exactly who it was but tried to convince herself otherwise: it could be Alex's – they'd been together a few times before she'd left for Davenport. It wasn't necessarily George's, she reasoned. But it had to be, otherwise she would've realized she was pregnant a month or two ago, not just now.

As if she hadn't had enough complication in her life, now there was this. How was she going to tell Alex? Should she tell Alex at all? Should she convince him it was his? That could be an option only so long, because he wasn't stupid and she couldn't exactly give him a due date that was three months later than it should be if it was his.

And what about keeping it? The last time she'd been pregnant, she'd given her up for adoption so she could have a better life than the one Izzie could've offered. But what about now? She was married, her husband had a solid income, and she could maybe find a job doing something until she could get her own job back at the hospital. But did she even want a child right now? Could she handle it? Could Alex – their marriage, even – handle it? And what about the fact that it was George's?

How was she going to tell _him_ about this?

She sat down heavily on the edge of the tub, her thoughts swimming chaotically. She had to talk to George. That was the first thing she absolutely had to do, she decided. Tell him what had happened and then together they would figure out a solution.

* * *

It was late evening and George was finally on his way to bed after having a very, very long day. Shortly after lunch a group of soldiers had been brought in, all with not terribly severe injuries from a short firefight with a small group of Ba'ath loyalists. The rest of his afternoon had been spent doing rounds on his other patients, changing dressings, cleaning up and other general duties. He felt dead on his feet and had just put his hand on the door to the barracks when someone called his name.

With great reluctance and a very heavy sigh, he slowly turned around to see Dean coming towards him, carrying his fatigues jacket over his shoulder and a piece of paper in his hand.

"Hey Dean, what's up?"

"Message came in for you a bit ago over the main line."

"Oh?" George raised an eyebrow in surprise. The main line was generally used for family members, but usually only in case of emergencies.

"Yeah," Dean held out the piece of paper. "She said it was really important."

George scanned the paper which told him that Izzie had called at 22:35 hours and that she needed him to get back to her as soon as possible.

"Did she say anything else?" George asked.

Dean shrugged. "Sorry, I didn't take the message. I was just on my way to the barracks myself and Jackson asked me this to give to you."

"Thanks Dean."

George stuffed the paper in his pocket and immediately began hurrying to the Rec building to use a sat phone to call Izzie. There were a couple of sat phones in the Rec building that the soldiers used to phone home in their downtime. He tried to call her once every two weeks or so, but the sat phones didn't have great quality (Izzie always complained he sounded tinny, scratchy and distant) and there often wasn't time for him to set aside for him to use it anyways. He knew she wouldn't have called the main line unless it really was an emergency, as their next "scheduled" phone conversation was just under two days from now.

On his way by, Anthony spotted him and caught up with him.

"Oy, O'Malley! You're not going to believe this."

"What?"

"They're putting me on patrol _again_. I've covered three days this week already!" Anthony shook his head. "Apparently they're not worried if I never sleep again."

"I hear you," George chuckled. "They must, uh, think you're really good at patrol."

"Oh of course I'm good at it – I'm _great_ ," Anthony grinned, his bright blue-grey eyes sparkling. "There's nothing I'm _not_ great at."

"Well, good luck." George smiled and started past his friend.

"You know, one of these days you'll have to come join me and get out where the _real_ action is, mate."

"I have plenty of action right, uh, right here – especially when you all come back in pieces. Just wait – I'll be patching up your sorry behind before you know it."

"No way, I'm way too quick for those Arabs." He winked.

George waved and called over his shoulder. "I gotta go. I'll see you later, Anthony."

"Have fun, Dr. George."

Everything after that moment happened far too quickly. George had barely turned away from Anthony when alarms began blaring in every direction. Everyone was to get to their stations and take cover.

Before George and Anthony had a chance to react, the ground shook and fireballs appeared just a few hundred feet from the base. Men dashed everywhere to their stations, there was shouting and noise and shockwaves of fear.

They were under attack.

The bombardment of explosions that had been farther away at first were suddenly right in the base. The dark night sky was lit up with fiery clouds and bullets began raining down. The soldiers were trained for an event like this and raced to fend off the attack. Anthony grabbed George and threw him to the ground behind a truck that then rattled frighteningly as it was riddled with bullets.

"What – "

George tried to ask what was going on when his words were drowned out by the biggest and closest blast yet. The force of it pushed against the truck and George could feel the heat of it on his face. Panic and fear coursed through him. Training or not, this was not something he felt prepared to handle. He could be calm under pressure, but this was way beyond that. This was locking his brain and freezing his limbs, making him immobile and more scared than he could remember ever being.

"Run!" Anthony roared in his ear, snapping his brain out of lock-down.

Anthony yanked him to his feet and the world seemed to be coming apart around them. Other men were running beside them, some getting shot down as they ran. Fireballs seemed to erupt out of no where. He caught a glimpse of Trevor somewhere up ahead of him, glancing back white-faced and absolutely terrified.

 _This can't be happening, this can't be happening…_

And then something behind him threw him completely off his feet. There was heat and noise and he was skidding across the ground. There was screaming and shouting and something was burning and he finally came to a stop, his head spinning, pain everywhere, his ears ringing loudly, blood running in his eyes. Something was too hot behind him and he was gasping for breath.

He saw Trevor's body sprawled in the dirt not too many feet away, bloody, burned and wide-eyed, his mouth open in a silent scream. _Dead_.

George tried to blink away the spots before his eyes and felt blinded by the fire burning seemingly everywhere. He fought to sit up and realized the base was on fire, being bombed, shot down. There were bodies everywhere, craters everywhere, men were still running, shooting wildly at the attackers.

 _This can't be happening – oh God, I can't breathe -_

Then Dean was beside him on the ground, clutching at George's collar frantically and hollering. George couldn't hear him but realized Dean was missing some limbs. His stomach lurched and then suddenly a bloody Anthony ran to him on his other side, wrenched him away from Dean and pulled George roughly to his feet.

"C'mon! C'mon, _GO_!"

George's head was spinning, his vision blurring and Anthony held onto his friend's arm, not about to leave him behind. George was aware of hot sticky fluid on his face which felt raw, his breath was ragged and strained. There was throbbing and sharp pain in various places on his body, but he ran anyways.

Anthony and George ran for their lives, their feet pounding across the dirt.

There was one more massive explosion before the world went black.

* * *

 _Four Days Later_

She was trying not to panic. There was no reason to panic. _No reason_ , she told herself.

Except that there _was_ reason to panic, about more than one thing. The first, was that she'd used the emergency number George had given her and he still hadn't called her back. That'd been four days ago. She reasoned that he could be really busy, maybe there were a lot of injured men who came through and he simply didn't have the time to call her back. Maybe he'd never gotten the message.

But even if those things were the case, then he should've called two days ago for their scheduled call. It was often difficult with the time zone difference to call each other but they'd always managed before. If something had happened…

Izzie closed her eyes and breathed slowly. _No_ , she thought firmly. _Don't go there. Don't go there at all. It's fine – he's fine. He'll call._

She opened them with a bit of a jolt as the door opened.

"Well, Mrs. Karev, everything looks okay." Dr. Wendy Carr smiled warmly. "I do have a few concerns, however. Now, you say you've been having some spotting and severe nausea?"

Izzie nodded.

After a few straight days of basically being bed-ridden (and claiming it definitely was the flu to all of her friends and her husband), she'd decided to make an appointment with the Obstetrician at Seattle Grace. It'd been a bit of a challenge to get to her appointment without seeing any of her friends and raising any suspicion, but she was pretty sure she'd managed. She'd taken the long way around, going through wards she never had had anything to do with and finally making it after only passing a small handful of familiar nurses who didn't give her a second glance.

Dr. Carr had so far taken a thorough medical history of Izzie, including information about her past pregnancy. She'd taken a blood and urine sample and completed an ultra sound and was now going over Izzie's symptoms once again.

"Well, I've checked you over and there _are_ a few more tests I can do to see if we can determine exactly why you're experiencing these symptoms. As far as I can tell, though, things are progressing alright."

Izzie raised her eyebrow slightly "Just alright?"

Dr. Carr nodded. "Your symptoms are a bit more pronounced than is the norm, which is concerning, but not necessarily unusual. I want you to keep on eye on it and I'd like you come in again next week for another check-up, or sooner if anything gets worse."

Dr. Carr paused briefly before continuing, "Mrs. Karev, I don't want to scare you, but I want to be honest with you. And you're a doctor as well, so I'm sure you have an idea of what's going on. The ultra sound showed a weaker than normal heart rate and the fetus is a bit underdeveloped for what it should be by now. I'm concerned about the possibility of a miscarriage, especially with the severe nausea and light spotting you've been experiencing."

Izzie dropped her gaze to her hands, her stomach twisting as she listened. And this was the second thing she was trying not to panic about. When her symptoms had started, she already had an idea of what it could mean. She wasn't an Obstetrician herself, of course, but she'd studied enough to guess. Going to the hospital for the appointment had been more of a confirmation of what she'd already figured out herself, though she silently admitted she'd been hoping to hear different news.

"I understand," she finally replied.

Dr. Carr looked at her sympathetically. "I'm sorry I don't have better news. But it's not certain that it will be a miscarriage. Many women have started their pregnancies in a similar manner and gone on to have perfectly healthy babies. I just wanted to prepare you for the possibility."

Izzie found herself unable to reply this time so she simply nodded.

Dr. Carr booked Izzie another appointment for the following week and reminded Izzie to come in at once if any of her symptoms worsened. She talked to Izzie for a few more minutes then left so Izzie could get out of the hospital gown and back into her regular clothes.

Just as she was pulling on her shirt, her cell phone rang. She picked it up off the floor by her jeans and answered.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Izzie, how're you feeling?" Meredith asked.

"Oh, uh, better, I guess. I, um, just stepped out, for… some lunch." Izzie lied.

"That's great, I'm glad you're feeling decent. Look, I'm sorry to bug you, but George's mom is at the hospital and she was hoping to talk to you. She didn't really say why, other than that it's kind of important. She seemed uncomfortable or something."

Izzie's brow furrowed and a sense of dread settled on her shoulders. Why was Mrs. O'Malley at the hospital, instead of just calling? It wasn't exactly a short trip from the outskirts of Seattle where she lived to Seattle Grace.

"Do you think you'd be able to come by for a minute? If not, I can just tell her…"

"No, it's fine," Izzie said quickly. "I, um, I'll be right there."

After she hung up from Meredith and finished getting dressed, she left the hospital out a back door and took a walk around the block so she ended up coming towards the front doors from the parking lot. She felt a little ridiculous and secretive, being paranoid that someone might spot her coming from a different direction and somehow guess that she'd been in the hospital with the Obstetrician, but she did it anyways.

When she made it to the front doors, she realized Meredith hadn't said where Mrs. O'Malley was waiting. Izzie headed up to the surgical floor and luckily Meredith happened to be filling out some charts at the main nurses' station.

"That was quick," she commented with a smile.

"I was already close by," Izzie shrugged then asked where Mrs. O'Malley was.

Meredith answered that she was in the waiting room down the hall. Izzie thanked her and headed in that direction.

She wondered what could be wrong and didn't waste any time making her way to the waiting room. Upon entering, she was surprised to see Callie with Mrs. O'Malley in the otherwise empty room and it further increased her curiosity and trepidation about what was going on. A horrible sense of unease began to steal over her and she fleetingly wondered if something had happened to George.

 _No._ _He would've told me himself or I would've heard sooner,_ she thought. _He's fine. He_ has _to be fine._

"Izzie," Mrs. O'Malley greeted and gave Izzie a tight hug.

"How are you?" asked Izzie.

Mrs. O'Malley tried to smile but her eyes were full of tears almost instantly. Callie put her hand comfortingly on Mrs. O'Malley's shoulder. The look on her face as she glanced at Izzie showed she didn't know what was going on either.

"I... I know that you two girls mean a-a lot to m-my Georgie," Mrs. O'Malley said shakily and slowly pulled a small, dark blue box from her purse. "I was told f-first, of course, since I... since I'm his m-mother."

Callie and Izzie exchanged frightened and confused looks. What was going on?

"But he... you mean a lot to him. You were married once, Callie, and Izzie, you're his – you're h-his best f-friend." Mrs. O'Malley wiped her eyes with the kleenex in her other hand and then held out the blue box to Callie and Izzie.

Callie took it gingerly and opened it with trembling hands. Inside was a pair of army dogs tags. George's dog tags.

" _They already gave me a pair of dog tags and everything." He fished in his jacket pocket for a moment before pulling out a chain with a pair of army tags on the end, his full name and other information embossed in them…_

Mrs. O'Malley finished tearfully, "There was a-an attack. George... Georgie's dead."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: And you didn't think I would go there.


	9. Halleujah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: There's no lyric chunk to start this chapter, as it's more of a mood thing: that song "Hallelujah" by Imogen Heap, which I believe was used on The OC.

Izzie felt as though the wind had been physically knocked from her chest. Her world was spinning and before she collapsed, she unsteadily sat down in the nearest chair. Callie was shaking all over, staring down at the dog tags and she looked like she couldn't breathe either. Mrs. O'Malley covered her face with her hands and cried quietly - it made it ten times worse and more real to have to say it aloud.

"H-how?" Izzie finally managed to ask.

Mrs. O'Malley sat down beside Izzie, gathering her composure. "T-they came yesterday afternoon. The man, he said that Georgie's unit was attacked. He said there were just forty of them and... and that only f-five made it."

Izzie couldn't believe what she was hearing. George? Dead? It couldn't be happening. It had to be a nightmare, a horrible, vivid nightmare. _No... no, not George... God, please, please not George…_

Mrs. O'Malley wiped her eyes again with the wet kleenex. "T-they found his tags with... with - on a b-body..." She couldn't continue to explain what she'd been told, but she didn't have to. Izzie and Callie understood: the body must have otherwise unidentifiable aside from the dog tags, which is how they knew it was George.

Izzie felt nauseous and screamed inside for herself to wake up. _Please God, no, this can't be true... not George..._

Mrs. O'Malley wanted Callie and Izzie to keep the dog tags, as she said she'd been given a few of George's things that hadn't been destroyed during the bombing. The pair mostly held themselves together, bid Mrs. O'Malley goodbye, and knew it was up to them to inform the rest of the hospital. Callie handed Izzie the damaged dog tags and said they could deal with them later, and then with a look of sorrow and understanding, they split up.

Izzie turned around, headed out of the hospital, and drove herself to George's apartment, as if she could prove he was there and this was all a mistake. She knew very well he'd been gone for a little over two months to Iraq, but if this was a terrible dream, then none of that mattered. He would be there - he was _always_ there for her when she needed him…

_She knocked rapidly and impatiently waited before knocking again, louder. He finally came, his hair dripping, surprised to see her._

" _Izzie? You could've just used the key and let yourself in."_

" _What key?"_

" _The spare." He reached up to the door frame and flashed her a silver key before replacing it._

" _You keep a spare on the door frame?" Izzie entered as he shut the door behind her. "You realize any random person could totally get in to your apartment."_

" _And what? Steal my milk? The biggest thing I have of value is the TV," He gestured to it, sitting on a tiny wooden end table against the wall in the living room/kitchen area. "It's so old and small they couldn't do anything with it anyways."_

_She plopped herself down on the couch, trying to avoid the reason why she'd come even though at the same time she was bursting to speak to him about it._

_He immediately sensed her unease. He threw a towel across his shoulders so the water in his hair wouldn't run down his back and sat down beside her._

" _What's going on?" He asked._

" _I..." She shook her head. "I know you said you're here. I know you want to know... but I..."_

_He reached out to hold her hand, concerned by her manner._

_She turned scared, watery eyes to him. "I just can't deal with... I..."_

" _Hey, Izzie, what's going on?"_

_She opened her mouth to speak - she was going to tell him. Tell him that she was Patient X, tell him she had been vividly seeing and feeling Denny everywhere, tell him she was scared and didn't want to admit what it all could mean..._

_Except telling him made it real. Telling George, her best friend, someone who cared deeply for her, made this thing, this horrible something she was carrying - it meant she had to face it head-on. She'd have to see the pain in his eyes, the worry, the same scared feeling she had. It meant she couldn't be objective anymore, couldn't stand back and pretend that Patient X wasn't her. And though she'd come straight to him after having another particularly vivid experience with Denny with the exact intention to tell him everything, now that she was sitting before him, she couldn't make the words leave her lips._

_So she completely copped out._

" _Alex and I had a fight. A-a bad one." She lied and fought the urge to wince at her terrible cover-up._

_He knew her too well - could tell that this wasn't the reason she'd come, the real reason she was upset. But other than a quick searching look, he played along and didn't press her. For that, she was grateful._

* * *

The spare key was still hidden on top of the doorframe and once she was in, she felt like her heart was bursting in her chest. Things were dusty, his bed was made. There was a small collection of junk mail on the floor and his fridge was empty. It was very clear that he hadn't been here in two months. She gingerly touched his things – his table, his dead plant (he still refused to throw it out, promising he could revive it), his aging blue couch he'd bought at a garage sale after moving out of Meredith's.

Everything seemed empty and untouched, and yet somehow she still couldn't internalize that this was real, that he really was dead. He just couldn't be, not George. Not like this. He was supposed to live to be a hundred years old, and never get old, always smiling, always caring.

Tears pooled threateningly in her eyes as she moved to the bedroom. The first thing she noticed was that the picture on the nightstand of him, her and Mer each holding up a beer and grinning from the first month they'd moved in together, was gone. She rushed to the closet and when she saw that his favorite green t-shirt was not there, somehow _that's_ what it made it all real.

He was really gone.

" _George, I swear, that shirt is going to grow legs and crawl away if you don't take it off and wash it." Izzie laughed._

" _C'mon! It's totally clean," he protested. "Well, okay, except where I, uh, I kinda spilled some pop the other day, but other than that it's clean."_

" _You change into it every time you get home from work and you wear it for like weeks on end before Mer or I confiscate it and force it into the laundry."_

" _Well, it's the best and most comfortable shirt I own, what do you expect?" He landed on the couch beside her._

" _You do own other comfy shirts."_

" _No, not like this one. I'm going to be buried in this shirt, I tell you. You know, I never go on a trip without it?"_

_Izzie chuckled. "Why does that not surprise me?"_

_He grinned and flicked a piece of popcorn at her._

As if the past few months had not been hard enough as it was, with her mother gone and losing her job, now the worst thing she could possibly imagine had happened: George was dead.

She crumpled onto his bed and stayed there crying for quite some time before she was too numb to cry anymore.

* * *

By the end of the following day, everyone in the hospital had learned of George's death overseas. A dark cloud clung to the hospital as many of the staff moved about in a state of shock and grief. Most of the Mercy West staff, who barely knew George or didn't know him at all, felt like they were practically running the hospital as a result. They didn't complain as they didn't mind having more work to do and were secretly glad the death had not been someone close to them. Even several patients commented on the gloom of the hospital and the way many were walking around with kleenexes and tear stained faces.

A core group who knew George the most were naturally taking the news the hardest. Callie had taken a few days off, Alex was more closed off than ever. Meredith and Cristina were dealing with the news in their Meredith and Cristina way by keeping the grief at a distance, constantly distracting themselves and refusing to grieve.

Izzie, who already was going through harder times than ever before, felt like she was spiraling out of control. When her mother had died, George was there for her, as he'd always been. And when she'd lost her job, he was there. She hated that he'd left to go to the army but even if he was no longer in Seattle, he was still _there_ somehow. The promise of him visiting, the emails, the phone calls, knowing he was across the ocean being a "doer" like they always talked about… He was still there, still _alive_.

And now he was really gone - gone forever, dead. _Gone like Denny was gone._

The worst part of it was the next few days leading up to George's funeral, she found herself actually wishing for her cancer to return. She was well aware what kind of a horrible wish she was making and had no desire to have to fight it all over again, as she'd barely won the first time. But if her cancer was back, if a tumor came back, then maybe she would get to see George again, talk to him again, like she had with Denny. And he wouldn't be gone.

* * *

_One Week Later_

There was no body to bury, so they stood around a modest tombstone with George's name, birth date and date of death engraved on its shining gray surface. The preacher spoke and tears were shed. Alex held her hand tight. Following that was a small reception at a nearby church, where during the time when everyone was attempting to nibble on the food and drinks available, several people took turns at the open mic saying a few words.

Lexie spoke about how she wished she'd been a better friend to him, about how much she missed him since he left. The Chief emotionally talked about how George was a good doctor and surgeon and his loss was greatly felt in the hospital. Bailey told them that George was like a son to her and that she'd lost a family member to war. Hunt got up to say that he believed George was a hero for going overseas and that he would never be forgotten.

"He was caring and kind," Mrs. O'Malley sniffed. "He always put others before himself, especially those he cared about the most..."

_Izzie opened her eyes slowly, her lids feeling like they weighed a thousand pounds. Her throat was painfully dry and she felt weak and shaky. She realized it was dark out still and then that George was asleep in a terribly uncomfortable looking position in the chair near her bed. She scrunched her eyebrows slightly wondering why he was there._

_He shifted and opened his eyes to look at her._

" _Hey," he greeted sleepily._

" _What are you doing here?" she croaked. "What time is it?"_

_He extracted his arm from an awkward angle behind his back to look at his watch. "3:52."_

" _Why aren't you at home, sleeping in a bed?"_

" _You had chemo today. I stayed with you in case you needed me." He answered matter-of-factly._

" _I have chemo a lot."_

" _I'm here a lot." He smiled._

_She wanted to talk more with him, tell him he was wasting his time and probably getting a backache from being curled up weirdly in that wooden chair, tell him she was fine, ask him how many nights exactly he'd been staying in her hospital room to make sure she was okay through the night…_

" _Thank you." She whispered, already falling back to sleep, somehow feeling safer and comforted._

" _You're welcome, Iz."_

"You gonna go up there?" Alex asked in her ear, pulling her back to the present.

She hesitated then nodded numbly.

"You don't have to – no one expects you to."

"It's fine." She said.

She waited for the mic to be free and then headed over to it, her knees quivering. She hardly knew how to start or what words to use. How did she even summarize what he'd meant to her? How could she possibly rein in her emotions enough to say something? She almost walked away, changing her mind. Saying _he was_ , past tense, would make it final. _A big "The End" stamp that would hurt more than anything else had so far._

She cleared her throat slightly, trying to dislodge the large lump of emotion clogging it.

"He was…"

_He was good, loyal, brave, passionate, sweet…_

He was her best friend.

" _I just want to let you know, I'm still here. I still care…"_

" _You didn't have to try and do this alone..."_

Why'd she sleep with him at the cabin? Why had she let her emotions run wild like that? Why did she ever let him walk out that door and go to Iraq?

" _You didn't tell me you were getting a hole drilled in your damn hip…"_

He went overseas, so he wouldn't disappear, and he said he'd come back. He'd said he'd _come back…_

" _Yeah. Yeah, we're saying maybe someday…"_

And now she was at his funeral.

"He was…"

" _You're just scared to do it. This back and forth is just fear. You already made the decision…"_

_He was there for me, he loved me, he came for me…_

" _I joined the army…"_

"He was my person." Izzie choked out. "He was my _person_."

A fresh wave of tears made their way down her cheeks and she walked away quickly, silently adding, _And I was still in love with him too._

* * *

Izzie leaned against the cool wall outside while the reception continued indoors. She breathed the fresh air deeply, her eyes closed, wishing with all her heart that she could turn back time. Being inside with pictures of George surrounded by flowers, hearing people talk about him, knowing she was never going to see him again…

" _Be careful." She finally whispered tearfully._

_He hugged her back. "Don't worry. I'll come back."_

It'd all abruptly hit her over again when she'd taken her turn at the mic and everything had suddenly become far too overwhelming and claustrophobic. Meredith and Alex had tried to follow her but she snapped at them to leave her alone for a minute.

She exhaled slowly and was startled by a deep voice.

"Tough room, huh?"

She opened her eyes to see a man in a wheelchair wheeling towards her. His head was wrapped in bandages, unsuccessfully covered by an officer's army hat. His face was yellowed and bruised, he had stitches and burns on his face and arms and certainly looked like he'd had a very serious accident. Her breath caught in her chest as she noticed his uniform and realized this man was from the army.

He smiled warmly at her. "You must be Izzie Stevens."

She nodded slowly, unsure of how to reply.

He offered her his hand. "I'm Rich Thompson. I was in the unit that worked with George's med unit in Iraq. I'm one of the five that survived the attack."

Izzie shook his hand gently, very aware of his various injuries. She remembered all the things George had said about Rich in his emails and was glad to be able to put a face to the name.

"Nice to meet you," she said.

"George had this picture he kept tacked up by his bed, of this gorgeous blonde just grinning from ear to ear. He always talked about her, his best friend. I almost didn't recognize you with the shorter hair and no smile."

She smiled just a touch, though it was a terribly sad smile. She liked the image of George boasting about her to his army buddies. She was glad to meet Rich, but greatly wished it had been under different circumstances.

"I'm sure George would've been really glad to see you here," she said.

He nodded. "He was a great guy. He worked so hard, he hardly slept – always taking on more duties, doing whatever needed to be done, without complaint." Rich's eyes misted for a moment and he chuckled sadly. "You know, when I first woke up in that hospital, and heard that only five of us made it, I was so _sure_ George had to be one of the five."

Despite Rich's words, Izzie's heart lifted in hope just a tiny bit. If it was a mistake, if maybe George _was_ one of the five, but just badly burned and missing his dog tags or if it all was just a mistake and…

Rich sighed. "There was a group of us just coming back from patrol. Nine of us, in two separate trucks. When the bombs started coming down, the first truck went up right in front of us and we crashed straight into them. I got knocked out, but Jackson pulled me from the wreckage. I couldn't believe it when I woke up in that hospital and they told me... they said that… that everyone else was gone. Anthony and George were my closest friends out there, and… and neither of them… _God_ , I…"

That tiny, irrational spark of hope went out immediately at the sight of tears leaking down Rich's battered cheeks as she listened to the depth of his grief. Of course George wasn't one of the five – she'd been silly to imagine it, even if only for a second.

Izzie reached out and touched his hand, sharing in the loss of George and pained by the broken man before her and the trauma he'd experienced.

Rich got a hold of himself a moment later. "I-I'm paralyzed now, but… I'm alive. So I'm using all my money to try and fly to the boys' funerals. It's the least I can do." He paused to wipe his eyes. A moment later, he cleared his throat. "Sorry to go off on you, there."

"No," Izzie assured him. "It's fine."

"I'm glad to have met you, Izzie." He smiled softly at her. "Finally get to see the woman George loved so much."

Her stomach gave an odd sort of lurch but she forced herself to disregard it. "I'm glad to have met you too, Rich."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: Sorry to kill the optimism there... I would like to promise a little happiness soon, but alas I cannot just yet. It's gonna get darker before it gets lighter.


	10. Vienna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: This would be the "dark" I was referring to at the end of the last chapter. It's gonna be a rough one... (*angstangst*) Please check the tags if you have a trigger - I don't want to spoil anything outright. 
> 
> Warning: Contains adult subject matter and some light swearing.

* * *

_Maybe in five or ten yours and mine will meet again  
Straighten this whole thing out  
-The Fray_

* * *

The next several weeks were surely the hardest of Izzie's life. George, her best friend, her _person_ , the one she talked to the most about everything, was gone. Her mother was gone too, she had no job, she was still hiding a massive secret from her husband – the husband who she felt like she couldn't talk to about any of it. She felt like a shell of herself, wandering in and out of the days of the week, numbly and without direction. Her pregnancy was beginning to slowly show so she started wearing baggier shirts and letting people assume she was simply gaining weight. She didn't know how to deal with this and felt like she had no one to turn to.

Alex, to his credit, was trying. Even if he hated it, he had to recognize just how much George meant to Izzie and that she was taking his death extremely hard. He tried to be there when she needed to cry and would just hold her and not offer any words, as he simply didn't know what to say that could possibly comfort her. On the days the world was just too much and she struggled to get out of bed, he attempted to make supper for them or go out and buy the groceries needed. Sometimes he asked Meredith or Cristina to come over and take care of Izzie if he was going to be late at the hospital. He offered a couple times for her to talk to him about how she was feeling, but she didn't know how to begin with him so she simply didn't, and he tried not to pressure her.

She felt isolated and alone, and knew she couldn't keep the secret of her pregnancy any longer. Finally one evening when Cristina came over, Izzie decided she had to tell _someone_. It was already way out of hand, seeing as how she was basically three months pregnant and the only person who knew was Dr. Carr at the hospital.

"Hey," Cristina sat down on the edge of the bed. "I brought Chinese." She held up the bag of take-out with a sad half-smile.

Izzie turned and looked at her friend with watery eyes. "Cristina, you're the first one I told about... my cancer."

Cristina's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "You're not about to tell me something like that again, are you? Some deep dark secret? Because - "

Izzie cut her off, sitting up on the bed. "I have no one else to tell."

"What about Alex? Since he's your husband and all…"

Izzie shook her head.

Cristina went from slightly annoyed and wary to worried, immediately fearing the worst. She studied her friend momentarily, then gave Izzie the slightest of nods to let her know she was ready to hear whatever she had to say.

Izzie inhaled shakily then said, "I'm pregnant. Alex doesn't know. And... I couldn't... I… I had to tell someone."

Cristina's brow wrinkled a little in confusion. "Isn't this a good thing? You shouldn't even be able to _have_ kids – that's why you froze your eggs."

"I know. And it... _is_ a good thing – it's a miracle, actually. It shouldn't have happened."

"So... what's the problem? Does Alex not want kids? Is that why you haven't told him yet?"

Izzie almost chickened out as she looked her friend in the eye. She'd been trying so hard to keep everything in, to close up and only deal with one thing at a time. After all, she'd still been in the process of dealing with her mom's death when she'd learned of the pregnancy and George's death back-to-back. It was far, _far_ too much. Keeping it a secret was almost easier in some ways, because it was like she didn't have to deal with it. Except as her stomach began to slowly grow, she was being forced to deal with it.

She struggled with her words for a few moments, trying to explain to Cristina what had happened. Then with tears in her eyes, Izzie explained that the baby was George's and poured her heart out to Cristina. Her friend was clearly shocked but listened patiently without interrupting until Izzie had finished.

"I'm sorry," Cristina finally whispered.

A solid minute or two of silence passed between them with Cristina not knowing what else to say and Izzie feeling somehow immensely relieved that someone else finally knew her secret. It was her who broke the silence first.

"I... I didn't know who else to tell." Izzie sniffed.

"And you haven't told Alex yet, at all?"

Izzie shook her head and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "How could I? He and George never got along all that well, and Alex and I were on such bad terms when I came back... I... It'll crush him to hear I..." She buried her face in her hands, wondering not for the first time, how _exactly_ she'd managed to come to this point in her life.

Cristina tried to digest everything, overwhelmed by the information her friend had just shared with her. She had no clue what to say, what kind of advice to give. The only thing she was sure of was that Alex had to know before things got any further.

Izzie wanted to protest but knew Cristina was right. It was bad enough that she hadn't told him for this long and the longer she left it, the worse things were going to get.

"You better tell him soon," said Cristina later that night when she was leaving. "And you really need to find someone else to tell your scary, life-altering secrets."

Izzie smiled a little watching her friend go, desperately hoping she wouldn't have any more scary, life-altering secrets _to_ tell. And then she started dreading the moment when Alex came home and she would have to tell him the truth.

* * *

Thankfully she didn't have to wait long before he came home. He came straight in, threw a quick hello her way and then settled at the table and immediately began working through a pile of papers. She knew he had a big case at the hospital he'd been working on for almost a week and it was very important, but since talking to Cristina, she knew she could not put off talking to him a single night longer.

"Hey," she said and slid down into the seat across from him.

"Hey. You feelin' better?"

She almost winced – _Hardly,_ she thought – but answered, "A little."

They were quiet for a few moments.

"Alex, can I talk to you?"

"Right now?"

She felt a flash of irritation at him – he had offered at one point to be available to talk whenever she needed him. Well, she needed him now. She forced the irritation away – that would be a bad way to start off.

"Look, I know you're busy with this big case, but... it's important."

Something in her tone must've gotten through as he looked up quickly at her, worry creasing his features.

"I... I don't really know how to say any of this, so..." She twisted her hands on top of the table. "But I..." She sighed, wishing the words that could _somehow_ make things better between them would come. "Alex, I'm sorry I left so suddenly before. But with mom, and my job... I... it was too much. It was all too much. I just couldn't be here and see all of you and be reminded of everything. I handled it badly. I-I just needed time to clear my head. I'm sorry I didn't tell you where I was – I'm sorry I told you not to come after me." She reached out to touch his hand. "You're my husband and I should've let you come be with me."

"Damn right." He said hotly and pulled his hand away.

She sat back, surprised by his angry tone. "What?"

"I said damn right."

"I got it the first time. I - look, I'm apologizing here, Alex, and I - "

"Yeah, I heard you. Doesn't make up for the fact that people were constantly asking me where you were and I had no idea." He glared at her. "I'm your _husband._ You said it yourself!"

This was not starting out at _all_ like she'd intended.

"Well, I'm sorry if the death of my own mother made _you_ look bad!" She shot back before she could stop herself. "Heaven forbid _you_ go through a tough few weeks, after all _you've_ been through!"

"Oh, don't turn this around on me! It's not just you disappearing. It was O'Malley showing up and saying he'd seen you. He goes off to the goddamn army and you start acting weird whenever I tried to ask you what happened while you were gone. What the _hell_ , Iz?"

"Don't bring George into this – " She warned but he plowed on.

"Why the hell didn't you marry O'Malley then if he's the only one who you'll talk to? Did you call him, huh? Did he come to your damn rescue like he always does?"

"He came for me because he knew I couldn't handle everything! Where were you?"

" _You_ told me _not_ -

"Too busy trying to climb the hospital's corporate ladder?"

"So me trying to provide for you is a problem now?" Alex slammed his hand on the table with such force that it made Izzie jump. " _Dammit,_ Izzie!"

A silence so loud it hurt her ears formed between them as Alex stared down at the papers on the table before him and Izzie tried to find something to say. She hadn't meant for this to turn into another fight. She'd probably made this into the worst possible moment to tell him.

He spoke first with a heavy sigh as he rubbed his hands over his face. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell. But you… you're here, Izzie. You've had probably the worst year anybody can imagine, with cancer and your mom and everything, but you're _here_. You've survived that stuff. You need to start acting like it."

She blinked. "I… I need to start ' _acting_ ' like it? What is that supposed to mean?"

"I mean," he began, his voice adopting that defensive tone from before. "I know it's been tough, but you're not the only one who's had to deal with stuff. You're not the only one who's got it hard, who had to deal with your sickness. And you're not the only one who's grieving for O'Malley."

"He was my best friend, Alex! I think I have a right to be _sad_ because he's _dead_ , for God's sake."

"That's not what I said - "

"That _is_ what you said, that's exactly what you said - "

"I'm talking about you acting like a zombie all day every day – you're not even _you_ anymore!"

"My best friend _died_ , Alex!"

"Yes he did! _He_ died, _not_ you. Dammit, Izzie, you're not the one who died!" he shouted.

Their argument raged on from there. It was the type of argument that trumped all of their previous arguments by a mile. The type where they both would shout for a while, lose track of what started them shouting, and start to calm down only to ramp back up. The type where everything they've ever had an issue with was somehow dragged into it. The type where she started to feel dizzy and emotional the longer it went and he got redder and redder in the face.

Eventually somewhere in the midst of it all, though it surely couldn't have been a worse time, she managed to blurt out that she was pregnant. At first he'd been a bit confused, then asked her about getting her eggs and his sperm from the hospital and why hadn't she told him about getting an artificial insemination. She'd said she'd never gotten anything from the hospital like that and he became overjoyed for a moment, saying it was a miracle after all her cancer treatment. And then she'd had to explain _when_ exactly she'd gotten pregnant.

It got, if possible, even worse after that. The argument raged on and thinking back on it, she was hazy on the details of what was said and by whom. He yelled, she yelled, he apologized, she cried, he said something, she said something and then they were yelling again. If they had had neighbors within a few miles of the trailer, she was sure someone would've called the cops on them by now.

Almost three hours later, they were both nearly hoarse from the shouting match. The argument had reached its worst peak and she fled the trailer with a hot face, him hollering after her. She didn't listen and simply jumped in the car and drove away, half-blinded by tears. She drove fast and aimlessly for a little while before realizing she needed some place to stay for the night, since there was no way she was going back to the trailer. She decided against Meredith's, as then she'd have to explain to Meredith and Derek (and whoever else might be at the house at that time) what was going on and there was no way she felt like doing that.

She drove a little while longer, trying to decide what to do, as her adrenaline finally began to recede and her emotions were calming down. She came to a stop in front of a tall apartment complex with no particular plan in mind, except hoping her friend was at home and hopefully awake at this time of night.

Cristina's eyebrows moved high on her forehead when she opened her door. "Izzie?"

"Can I stay the night?"

* * *

The best part about staying with Cristina was that she didn't ask too many questions. She made up the couch for Izzie to sleep on, and Owen, who had been over for dinner and a movie, fetched some extra blankets from the hall closet. Cristina had shot him a warning look when he'd asked if everything was okay and he hadn't asked anything further after Izzie's curt, "Of course not".

Owen offered to make her some food if she was hungry or a drink if she was thirsty. Izzie declined but thanked him for the offer anyway. Cristina told her to help herself if she did end up getting hungry and took a moment to point out things of importance in the kitchen as well as reminding her there were more blankets to be found in the hall closet should she get cold. Izzie thanked them both again, especially for Cristina for letting her stay. Her friend assured her it was no problem at all and compassionately reminded Izzie that Alex was a jackass, even if they were married, so it was bound to happen at some point. Izzie of course didn't really find her words to be particularly comforting, but couldn't help a small smile at them anyways.

The pair bid Izzie goodnight and closed the door to the bedroom and a few minutes later she could hear Cristina and Owen continuing their movie. She snuggled down into the couch, clutching a pillow close to her chest so she could muffle her crying.

* * *

Sometime in the night, she shifted onto her side and a sharp stab of pain woke her up with a jolt. She blinked rapidly in the darkness, disoriented that she wasn't in the trailer. It took her mind a few seconds to wake up and remind her why she was at Cristina's. She tried to shift and get comfortable again when another stronger stab of pain sliced through her and she cried out. That was when she realized her legs felt wet.

Her heart began to race and she fumbled for the lamp on the end table. Just as she managed to flip the switch, another wave of pain hit her, worse than anything else so far. She cried out again, clutching her stomach.

Owen flung open the bedroom door. "Izzie? What - "

She held up a shaking hand that was sticky with blood. "Something's wrong."

He saw the blood soaked couch and called for Cristina.

* * *

When she opened her eyes, for a few minutes she found it very difficult to remember what exactly had happened. Slowly, it came back to her in pieces. The fight with Alex, sleeping at Cristina's, waking up with pain and blood, Owen carrying her to the elevator and then out to his car, Cristina speeding them to the hospital, faces hovering over her as she was placed on a stretcher and rushed to an O.R...

She moved her hand to her stomach, afraid of what she wasn't going to feel but already knowing it to be true. She'd had a miscarriage.

She wanted to cry, she wanted to scream and thrash. She wanted to curse to the heavens that it wasn't fair, that nothing in her life had been at all fair for so long and why, God, _why_ did this have to be taken away from her too? This one piece of goodness, of life - _this one last piece of George._

She'd heard the term "rock bottom" before and had always thought she'd known what it meant: the lowest possible level, the worst one could feel, the most awful situation. Now, as she curled up a little tighter in the hospital bed, staring at the blank wall with her back to the door, she realized she never really _understood_ the term, not really. But she does now: _the_ lowest _possible level, the_ worst _one could feel, the_ most _awful situation._

A tear or two slid down her cheek and soaked into the pillow and she simply felt numb and raw and exhausted. Life had been steadily taking absolutely everything away from her and she felt like she couldn't do it anymore. There was nothing left in her to fight anymore. Cancer had beat her down and she'd only just barely been back to being on her feet again when she'd been brutally knocked down with her mother's death. She didn't think she'd even managed to get to a kneeling position when she'd been slammed back down with George's death and now this.

She didn't think she could take any more. In fact, she was quite sure of it.

 _I give up_ , she thought. _Please God,_ _I have nothing left. I give up._

She drifted off to sleep eventually, with dark and depressed thoughts weighing her down like a horrible, black anchor.

* * *

It was night time again when she opened her eyes next. Her back was to the door, but when she heard a little movement behind her, she realized someone was in the room with her and she turned around in the bed to see Alex. He was blankly staring at an open magazine in his lap with red eyes. He looked up when she turned.

They didn't say anything for a long time. It was probably a good hour, in fact, where she stared at him and he stared back, then she'd look away or pretend to go to sleep and he'd pretend to read his magazine again for a while before she'd open her eyes and he'd look up, and they'd return their gazes to each other.

Finally, it was her who spoke first.

"I should've told you sooner." She whispered hoarsely.

He nodded a little. "I-I'm glad you're okay."

A few quiet minutes passed and she studied the pattern of the blanket by her forearm.

"I was dying," she began quietly. "You were just doing the right thing, because we were together and I was dying and I wanted that dream wedding. You meant your vows, I know you did. But... I was dying. And then I wasn't." She moved her eyes to meet his, seeing a similar feeling of sadness, defeat and understanding without the usual flare of anger. "We were never meant for this."

He clenched his jaw, wanting to protest. But he couldn't argue when he felt the same way. "You made me a better person," he said. "Most days." He added with a soft, humorless chuckle.

"He was there all along. You just wouldn't let him out." Izzie smiled just a little.

He returned it but guiltily averted his gaze.

There was a lot of unsaid things between them, a lot of apologies that probably should have been said. Somehow, however, they felt they were past that. They were past talking, and especially after their explosive argument, they were past simply apologizing. It was to the point where they both had finally come to the same realization: that they weren't meant to be married, that it wasn't working, that it was time to move on. That somewhere along the way they'd fallen out of love or that maybe they hadn't been as in love as they'd thought. It was hardly an easy realization and it'd taken them this long and a whole lot of heartache and yelling to come to it, but at least they were here. Maybe, in some tiny way, she wasn't quite as "rock bottom" as she felt.

She'd almost fallen asleep some time later when she heard him murmur, "I'm just glad you're okay."

She felt anything but "okay" but knew she would be in time. Everything that happened would eventually be behind her, even if it took a long time. And it probably would take a long time. It wasn't going to be easy, it wasn't going to be simple or nice, and there were going to be days when she just wouldn't be able to face the world or get out of bed or pretend like things were getting back to normal. Things would never be normal, they would never be like they were.

But someday, _someday_ she _would_ be okay.

" _So we're saying maybe someday?"_

" _Yeah. Yeah, we're saying maybe someday."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: That was a real dark and heavy one folks, but I promise there is light on the horizon for Izzie as she moves on from everything that's happened and things wind down. :)


	11. And The World Spins Madly On

_I thought of you and where you'd gone  
and let the world spin madly on…  
-The Weepies_

* * *

_Three months later - Davenport  
_

"Hello Izzie, how're you doing today?"

"I'm doing just fine, Herb, and yourself?"

"Ah, spent all mornin' mowin' the lawn and just had to come in for one o' your special goodies this afternoon." Herb smiled toothily.

Izzie laughed. "Alright, what'll it be?"

Herb, indecisive as always, took his sweet time gazing at the array of baked goods behind the glass. As he hummed and hawed, Izzie helped three more people waiting in line. Mrs. Hildebrandt got her usual muffins and turnovers (and had to chat at length about how badly she beat Tilda Abshire at bridge that morning) and Herman Wickenheimer purchased several loafs of whole wheat bread and the daily special (and reminded Izzie about Bowling on Sunday). Next up was eleven-year-old Weston McInnes, who Izzie was fairly certain had a crush on her, as he always turned bright red when she asked him how he was doing and Mrs. McInnes would always laugh and order for the both of them.

Herb finally decided on a loaf of sourdough bread, a vanilla-raspberry cupcake and bag of fresh croissants. Izzie rang him through and waved him out as he bid her a warm goodbye, promising to be back in a day or two. After Herb, came handsome Dan Ryder.

"Hey Izzie, how're you doing?" He grinned widely.

Dan was the hardware store owner's son and had been flirting with Izzie for weeks. He'd asked her out three times now and all three times she'd declined because of previous engagements, though she'd only truly been busy the once. He was nice enough and certainly good-looking with green eyes and short, dirty blonde hair, but Izzie had separated from Alex not that long ago and didn't think she felt ready to start dating again.

"I'm great Dan, and yourself?"

"I'd be better if you finally went out with me, you know," he quipped with another grin. "What'll it take, blondie?"

She laughed. His charm and sense of humor reminded her a lot of Denny. "How about you buy something and get out the way and I'll think about it?"

"Oh, come on Izzie," Dan pleaded but proceeded to buy a long list of items (as he'd been doing an awful lot lately). "How about Saturday?"

She shook her head as she scooped up the donuts he'd asked for. "Can't. Going to the movies with Rachel and Elaine."

"Sunday?"

"Bowling night."

"Surely you're not busy Monday?"

"Surely I am – I work here, you know."

"Not in the evening."

Izzie laughed again. He was definitely very persistent; she had to give him that. She told him his total and he opened his wallet.

"Tell you what," he said. "I am free all day Saturday and Sunday, as well as pretty well any weekday evening. I will give you my number, again, and you can call me if your oh-so-packed schedule lets up." He scribbled his number down on his receipt and handed it back to her with yet another handsome grin. "You can't resist me forever, Izzie."

"I'll think about it. That's the best you're going to get." Izzie replied but smiled widely back, her stomach doing a funny flip-flop under his intense gaze.

"I'll take it."

"See you later Dan."

He waved and headed out of the bakery as she turned to take the next customer.

"Izzie, why don't you take a break?" Tom, the gray-haired bakery owner came up behind her as she was about to help Mrs. Abshire (who was about to inform Izzie all about how Mrs. Hildebrandt hadn't beaten her _that_ badly). "You've been going all day – I'll take this one."

"Thanks Tom." Izzie gratefully headed to the back for a much-needed cup of coffee and a chair to sit in. She tossed her apron on the green upholstered chair next to her and exhaled heavily.

It was nice working on the bakery, but the days were certainly long. She was here first thing in the morning, bright and early at 5:30 AM to help Tom's wife Gina bake the day's fresh goods. Gina stayed in the back baking for the rest of the morning and went home (which was just upstairs for her and Tom) around lunchtime. Tom would come in at 7 to open the store for the day and Brandon, a young man saving for college, came in for the afternoons and the closing shift, to 7 PM. Izzie went home around 4. It was just about 3 now, so she only had an hour to go. She only worked four days a week and this was of course nothing compared to the long days she'd done as an intern or even a resident, but still. Her body wasn't used to those kind of long days anymore.

She frowned sadly thinking of her intern days, about much she missed being a surgeon, how she missed being in Seattle even if it meant she wasn't part of the hospital anymore. After her miscarriage, she'd spent a couple weeks in the hospital recovering and had thought a lot about everything that had happened in her life in such a short time. By the time she was released, she'd made a decision: she was going to move away from Seattle for a while. So when she and Alex announced their separation to the others, she'd added that she was going to move to Davenport.

Her friends weren't happy about it at all. Cristina couldn't understand why Izzie wasn't at the hospital daily, badgering the Chief for her surgical job back and Meredith whined that she would simply be too far away in Davenport. Alex didn't have much to say at all, but didn't seem to like the idea, especially since following his and Izzie's separation and the miscarriage, they'd been on much easier terms. They all wanted her to stay and they didn't want her "throwing away" Seattle Grace. But she wouldn't change her mind, and she knew she'd be back at Seattle Grace someday. She just didn't know when. They'd had no choice to let her go, as they could hardly stop her and especially when she was so determined. She promised to visit and that she would keep in touch.

When she got to Davenport, she settled into the cabin her mother had left her. She purchased satellite TV and internet to help curb her boredom, and even took to suturing fruits and pieces of chicken to help keep her hands in shape for the day she would return to Seattle. She briefly considered finding work at Davenport's hospital or walk-in clinic, but felt that maybe what she most needed was a break from the medical field to help her move forward. Her cancer, her best friend's death and her divorce seemed somehow too closely related to the medical field. The Chief had once said she needed to get away and get her life back together, so that's what she fully intended to do.

To combat the loneliness she felt at the cabin, she adopted a brother-sister pair of cats from the local rescue shelter. The girl, named Puffin, was an orange and gray tabby with a sweet demeanor. The boy, Timber, was black, white and gray splotched and was a real troublemaker, attempting to shred her curtains and furniture within hours of being brought to the cabin. They stayed outside during the day mostly, but came in at night where Izzie watched Timber like a hawk. He got better as the days went by and now she only had to worry about him getting into groceries or food if she didn't put it away immediately.

She started baking frequently as she got more bored with life and after she gave Mrs. Hildebrandt a few baskets of muffins and pastries, somehow she found herself taking requests and orders for other goods. It got to the point where all she was doing was baking constantly, when she wasn't buying groceries for the goods, though the amount of money she was bringing in more than covered them.

Eventually she got a call from Tom, the owner of the largest bakery in Davenport. He'd actually noticed a large downturn in his business as of late and had wanted to know if she'd be willing to sell her goods to him and he would resell them in his bakery. That took the pressure off of Izzie for handling all the payments of various people, which was a big relief. She knew how to handle and keep track of money, it wasn't hard, but she didn't really enjoy it and mostly anything to do with money stressed her out.

Tom and Izzie had that arrangement for a while, with Izzie driving into Davenport three times a week to drop off a delivery. Her car couldn't hold too much however, so her deliveries weren't a lot of goods and the driving was rather time-consuming. After about three weeks, Tom offered her a job as basically a "second-in-command" behind him and Gina, with a significant pay-raise and less stress on her, as she'd be baking at Tom's and using the bakery's ingredients. No more driving and delivering. She accepted immediately.

Which brought her to her current arrangement and she found she liked it a lot more than she thought she would. She enjoyed talking to all the customers everyday, and she was getting to know people more and more. She went to Bingo nights, Hockey nights, Bowling nights, Movie nights, Wine and Cheese nights, Poker nights, various parties and other get-togethers with a wide range of people. In fact, with just a population of roughly 2700, she felt like she probably knew just about everyone in the entire town by now.

She still missed Meredith, Cristina and Alex, though. She called them every now and then and had gone up to Seattle for a weekend here and there over the past few months. They always had all kinds of stories to tell about the hospital, who was with who now and of course all their personal drama. It made her miss Seattle greatly while she was there, but it was still nice to return to the quiet cabin and her two cats a few days later.

The other problem with going to Seattle was that it reminded her exactly how badly she missed being a surgeon. She read books, and quizzed herself with flash-cards nearly every other day to make sure she didn't let her knowledge fade. She still sutured fruit and meat to keep her skills sharp, she watched lots of real-life medical shows and even managed to rent medical documentaries. None of it was a substitute for the real thing, of course. But when she was ready to go back to Seattle Grace, she wanted to be _ready_. She wanted it to be the right time; she would have her life in order, all that hardship behind her. And she was going to be ready in the sense that she'd barely need a refresher on how to do things. She was not about to start at the bottom and work her way up again.

She hated to admit it, but she could see now that the Chief had probably been right when he'd "fired" her. He'd said she was in no state to be a doctor, that she needed time and could come back someday. She saw that now, and felt like she was in a much better place. She was by no means completely "over" everything that had happened, nor was she totally healed or anything. But she'd worked hard to move forward in her life and felt like she'd succeeded a little, and was thinking that perhaps in a couple more months, she'd head to Seattle Grace and talk to the Chief about possibly returning to work at the hospital.

A clatter out in the front of the bakery snapped her out of her thoughts. Her break was up, so she tossed back the rest of her coffee and headed out to help Tom and Brandon with the afternoon rush.

"What can I get you today?"

* * *

When she got home later that evening with a few movies and a bag of groceries in tow, Puffin was already at the door mewing insistently for attention.

"Hey, sweetie, I'm home, and yes, I got you food." Izzie smiled and set her bag down so she could scoop up the cat and give her a hug. Puffin was immediately placated and started purring loudly.

A little while later, as she cooked supper, she found herself thinking about Dan Ryder and about how maybe it wouldn't be such a terrible thing if she finally went out with him. He was very handsome, he was funny and nice, and he was interested. It'd been a little over three months since her official separation with Alex, but in truth they'd really been separated for a lot longer than that – they'd fallen out of love a long time ago and it just took a while for them to admit it.

Besides, going out once didn't mean she was looking for some kind of long term commitment. It was just one date, and maybe she wouldn't even enjoy it all that much and there wouldn't even be a second date.

 _Maybe I_ will _give him a call this week_ , she thought with slight shrug.

After a simple supper of grilled chicken and rice, Izzie got comfy on the couch with Puffin and Timber, who'd come in an hour before, and put on one of the movies she'd rented. It was supposed to be a romantic story set during the war; she'd heard good reviews about it. In the first half hour, as a group of soldiers were settled in their trenches, one young guy took out a picture of his family and started talking dreamily about them.

Izzie couldn't help a small smile. "He's totally going to bite it in a minute here." she predicted aloud. Puffin slept on, oblivious, but Timber blinked at Izzie as if asking her for an explanation. She gestured to the TV. "Every time a guy pulls out a picture of his family like that, he dies like five minutes later. It's just so you feel somewhat emotionally attached to someone before the director decides to blow him up." She chuckled and then felt a pang of sadness.

That particular thing about movies was something she and George had often joked about. It was usually even funnier when George became very sad for the guy who died moments later even though he and Izzie had just been joking about what an obvious movie ploy it was.

George. God, she missed him. More than anything, she missed being able to talk to him. It'd been several very long months in that respect. There'd been a lot of days she spent deeply sad, a lot of nights she spent crying. Losing him was like losing a big piece of her soul - something huge was missing and would never be replaced. She hadn't realized how hard she'd take the loss. It was a little easier now, she supposed, since so much time had passed. She was forced to get used to not talking to him.

She sometimes would sit down and write him a long email about the things that were going on in her life, but she didn't send them to his email anymore because they just bounced back. So she usually just deleted them and pretended she'd sent them anyways, and somewhere he was reading them, even if he couldn't respond. It was silly and she knew it, but some days it was what she needed.

Her eyes landed on the picture on the bookshelf in the blue frame. It was of the two of them on her birthday three years ago. She was laughing as George beside her, in a tiny, brightly colored cone-shaped party hat, blew on those annoying rolled-up paper party favors you love as little kid. He had kept doing it because she laughed every time he blew on the thing and she couldn't help but laugh when he, with that goofy grin and that little hat, made that stupid _vlooo_ noise. She smiled at the memory of that birthday and how she and George had stayed up until five in the morning inventing drinking games and playing "I Never".

With a heavy sigh she pulled her eyes and mind back to the movie. She had to rewind it a bit to find out what had happened when she wasn't paying attention and wasn't terribly surprised to see the man with the picture from before getting shot first when the soldiers attacked. She felt sad and pretended it was only because of the movie.

* * *

The next morning when Izzie got up, it was with the dreaded feeling of an impending flu. She was weak, her head ached and her stomach felt unsettled. With an irritated groan she slumped back to bed after a failed attempt at eating breakfast, silently refusing to be sick and thankful she didn't have to work at the bakery for a couple days.

Sometime after lunch, there was a knock at her door. The last thing she felt like doing was having visitors and wondered if it was Mrs. Hildebrandt dropping off a bouquet of flowers, as she'd been doing about once every two weeks since Izzie had started living at the cabin (she said it was to brighten the "dreary old place" up a bit, but Izzie was pretty sure she only brought flowers as a reason to come by and check up on her, which she appreciated nonetheless). She strongly considered pretending she wasn't home, but decided to at least try and be courteous, even if she felt gross.

She quickly pulled her hair back, threw a bathrobe over her pajamas, hitched on a smile and opened the door. She nearly cried out loud when she saw who was standing on the other side.

It had finally happened. As she stood staring in shock at the figure on the Welcome mat, she knew without a doubt: _h_ _er cancer was back._

"Hey Izzie," said George O'Malley.


	12. If The Rain Must Fall

_And in time you will find  
That things are not always what they seem  
-James Morrison_

* * *

"Oh God, no," she backed away, shaking her head. "No, this cannot be happening to me - not again, _no_ …"

"Izzie, it's okay. It's me – it's George."

"This can't be happening," She shut her eyes tight. "Please God, this can _not_ be happening - "

"It's alright – Izzie, it _is_ happening - "

She snapped her eyes open. Her knees were threatening to give out as panic spread through her. She felt like she was having trouble breathing. Cancer – her _cancer_ was _back_ … "You're not real… You're not really here… You're…"

"I am real Izzie, calm down - "

"I went to your funeral!" she burst out, tears blurring her vision. "You're _dead_!"

She sunk down onto the couch as George shut the door to the cabin gently behind him.

"It's back," She said in a frightened whisper. "I have cancer again."

He quickly sat down beside her. "Izzie, listen to me…"

"I said goodbye, I moved on, I…" she protested weakly. "You're not really here."

"I _am_. It's _me_ , Iz." He insisted softly. "I promise you."

She shook her head vigorously. It was just like seeing Denny all over again. Her tumor was back and this time she knew she wouldn't be able to beat it. She'd barely made it through last time. She'd been in remission for only a year for a disease that so few people survived. Now she was going to be part of the statistic that didn't make it.

"I wish it were you. I wish this… I wish I wasn't just imagining you. I wish it didn't mean…" she swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand as she spoke. "I can't go through it again."

"I – It's really me!"

"No, it's really _me_. My stupid diseased brain going haywire again and making me see things I want. Things I can never, _ever_ have – people who are l-long gone."

"Izzie, I'm not – I didn't – Here. I can prove it." He held his hand out to her. "Touch me and see. Touch me."

"It doesn't matter if I think I can feel you." She shook her head. "I believed Denny was real. I could touch him, feel him, talk to him – for a good few hours, I was completely convinced that he was somehow really there, really alive… that it was really happening." The tears slid down her cheeks steadily, one after another, her heart breaking at the memory. "But he wasn't there, he wasn't alive. It was just a tumor. He was just a vivid hallucination."

"Iz, look at me. Was Denny exactly how you remembered him?"

She nodded.

"I'm not, am I?"

He wasn't, it was true. This George had some noticeable scars on his face and especially his hands which looked as though they'd once been severely burned. He was wearing a clean, dark colored army uniform which she'd never actually seen him in before. Still, however, that didn't mean much. Her imagination had put her and Denny quite convincingly on a beach for seemingly hours, backgrounds and wall colors sometimes changed from what they really were and she'd been able to see large pools of white sand when she looked someone in the eye. The tumor could make her hallucinate extremely vividly and it was hardly out of the realm of possibility for her brain to make up a war-weary George. She wished Mrs. Hildebrandt would stop by so she could confirm for sure that there was no army man seated on her couch. It was torture and heartbreak to be sitting there, looking right at him, at _George_ , knowing he was long gone and her cancer had come back.

"I want to believe it's you, I do," she finally said emotionally, wiping her wet cheeks with her hands. "More than anything in world I want to be able to be with you again… But I just know… I _know_ it's not you."

He stared at her in dismay. She wiped her eyes, thinking about if she was going to bother with chemo treatment this time around and how she was ever going to tell her friends. On some small level, she was glad to see George again, even though it meant horrifying things for her. She'd missed him incredibly and just seeing his face again was good. But not under these circumstances.

A moment later, Puffin came mewing into the room. George looked down, and Izzie smiled sadly at the sweet cat. Then Puffin jumped up onto the couch between them and proceeded to climb into George's lap and rub her head against his hand, demanding he pet her.

Izzie felt her heart stop for a second and didn't realize she'd ceased breathing. She'd been able to see and feel Denny as if he'd been a totally real person, but no one else could. She could see and feel George as if he was completely real… _and so could the cat._

She jumped up from the couch and ran to the window to see an extra vehicle in the driveway. She turned back to George, who was still petting Puffin, and now looking hopefully back at her.

"G-george?" she said, her voice quivering, hardly daring to believe it. If he was real, if it wasn't her cancer…

He gently pushed Puffin off his lap and stood. "Yeah, Iz. I-it's me. I'm _here_."

She approached him, her body trembling all over. He held his hands out to her and she slowly grasped them. They were warm, they felt real. Puffin rubbed her head around George's ankles, purring loudly.

" _George!_ "

They embraced tightly and Izzie couldn't stop the sob that escaped her lips. He was _real_. Puffin couldn't be feeling him and seeing him if he wasn't. He hugged her back tightly, emotional himself. After all he'd been through, he was finally here.

"I'm sorry I called you a hallucination." She mumbled to his shoulder.

"Don't worry about it," he chuckled.

She pulled back slightly. "You're really, truly here?"

"I'm really, truly here."

"But your mom… George, they gave your mom your dog tags. They were found…"

He frowned. "Yeah. That's a bit of a story."

She smiled slightly. "I have time."

The pair pulled apart and settled down on the couch again. She held his hand as though if she didn't he might disappear or she'd wake up from this wonderful dream.

George proceeded to tell her his story.

* * *

_Six Months Earlier - May  
(Warning: some semi-graphic descriptions)  
_

"You know, one of these days you'll have to come join me and get out where the _real_ action is, mate." said Anthony.

"I have plenty of action right, uh, right here – especially when you all come back in pieces." George replied. "Just wait – I'll be patching up your sorry behind before you know it."

"No way, I'm way too quick for those Arabs." His friend winked.

George waved and called over his shoulder. "I gotta go. I'll see you later, Anthony."

"Have fun, Dr. George."

Everything after that moment happened far too quickly. George had barely turned away from Anthony when alarms began blaring in every direction. Everyone was to get to their stations and take cover.

Before they had a chance to react, the ground shook and fireballs appeared just a few hundred feet from the base. Men bolted everywhere to their stations, there was shouting and noise and shockwaves of fear.

They were under attack.

George and Anthony dove behind a truck for cover as more explosions went off around them in the base. George knew he was supposed to somehow be prepared for this, but he was terrified and froze up.

"Run!" Anthony roared in his ear, snapping his brain out of lock-down.

The pair ran as fast as they could, other fleeing men all around them. Fireballs seemed to appear out of no where. He caught a glimpse of Trevor somewhere up ahead of him, glancing back white-faced and completely terrified.

Suddenly something sent him sprawling to the ground. There was heat and noise and pain everywhere. He was bleeding and could barely breathe as he noticed dead bodies – bodies of the men in his unit, of men he knew – scattered through the dirt. Fire was burning everywhere. He fought to sit up and realized the base was on fire, being bombed, shot down.

Then Dean was beside him on the ground, clutching at George's collar frantically and hollering. George couldn't hear him but realized Dean was missing some limbs. A bloody Anthony had run to him on his other side and as he wrenched him away from Dean, Dean's hands held tight to George's dog tags. The chain snapped and the only thing George could do was run with Anthony.

"C'mon! C'mon, _GO_!"

George's head was spinning, his vision blurring. He was aware of hot sticky fluid on his face which felt raw, his breath was ragged and strained. There was throbbing and sharp pain in various places on his body, but he ran anyways.

Anthony and George ran for their lives, their feet pounding across the uneven ground.

Then there was one more massive explosion before the world went black.

* * *

When he came to, he was completely disoriented and in pain. He was aware he was on the ground, outside and the air around him was thick and hazy with smoke. He gasped for breath and was met with a whole lot of pain. He clutched at his chest and realized his dog tags weren't around his neck – _Dean. When he grabbed me –_

His head was spinning and as he tried to sit up, he found more injuries. He touched his head and his hand came back covered with blood, though he wasn't sure if it was all his own or not. Shaking all over, he called for Anthony and then he called for help. There were a lot of other bodies on the ground but he had no idea if any of them were alive or conscious – he seemed to be the only one moving or making noise in the immediate area.

He shouted again and then collapsed back down to the ground on his back, pain radiating through him. Spots swam before his eyes and he couldn't think clearly at all, even to remember what had happened or where exactly he was injured.

There was shouting and either thunder or loud footsteps, and before he could discern which it was, he lost consciousness again.

* * *

The next time he opened his eyes (or more properly _eye_ , as one was swollen shut and crackly with dried blood), he was in less pain but not much less disoriented. He couldn't really remember what had happened and couldn't figure out why he was in a dimly lit room, on the filthy damp floor. His throat was desperately dry and he was shivering cold.

There were a few other figures in the room with him, also on the floor. He couldn't be sure of how many, but it looked like two or three. The one closest to him heard him stirring and turned towards him. He had messy black hair that was partially burned away and caked with blood and his face was scraped up and scabbed over pretty badly.

"Hey mate," Anthony rasped. "Alright?"

He was startled by his friend's appearance. "Anthony, what…"

"You don't look so gorgeous yourself, there, Dr. George." The Brit smiled a little, correctly interpreting George's shocked features.

George glanced down at himself, as dirty, burned and bloody as Anthony was and didn't really know how to reply. Much of his left arm and hand were especially burned and scabbed. He couldn't remember why they were in such a state or if he was supposed to know where they were. He was glad to see his friend nonetheless.

"What happened?"

"Ah," Anthony rolled his eyes a bit. "Damn Arabs started a fire-fight. Chose us to sucker punch first."

_Fire, explosions, noise, running…_

George strained to recall more than a few vague images and couldn't. "I don't really remember."

"Good for you," Anthony chuckled and curled up in pain as he did so. When the pain passed, he said, "Glad you made it. You were always one of the good ones." His eyelids drooped shut.

"You too." said George. He soon followed suit, somehow exhausted by the short exchange.

* * *

The days following that got blurrier and blurrier for George. He contracted a serious fever, probably from an infection caused by his untreated wounds. The room stayed dark all the time, as there were no windows and aside from a faint yellowish glow coming from under the locked door, there was no light at all. They had no idea what time of day or night it was.

At seemingly random times, men with covered faces and large guns would unbolt the door and toss in a bag of food, usually hard bread and old cheese, sometimes with a canteen of water. Anthony, the most mobile of what in fact was just three of them including Pete, would usually crawl over to it and push it over so they could all eat. Pete had a broken leg which had been crudely splinted with a chunk of wood, among other various scrapes, burns and cuts like him and Anthony. There was one particularly large and deep gash across Pete's chest covered by a dirty bandage that had been soaked through and never changed.

Sometimes one or two of them were feeling well enough that they would have a conversation, usually about what had happened to the base or the others, or how they could possibly get out of the room. Anthony kept the faith that the three of them would be rescued because surely _someone_ was looking for them. Pete tried not to be negative, but mentioned more than once in a horribly defeated voice that he was going to die in the room they were being kept in.

The fever soon worsened and George began to stay conscious a lot less. When he was conscious, he had trouble formulating thoughts, remembering what was happening or understanding what was going on around him. Somewhere in the haze of his fever, he remembered Anthony crying because Pete had died while they were sleeping. That was when Anthony lost his faith about being rescued by someone else – but decided to take matters into his own hands. He promised George that they wouldn't die in that room, that he would get them saved.

At another time, he remembered hearing a lot of shouting and gun shots. There were bright lights and a lot of voices, and then he was being grabbed or moved, or he thought he was – maybe he was just dreaming. It was awfully difficult to tell by that point.

The last thing he remembered was Anthony's voice saying, "See ya later, Dr. George."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: Apologies that I didn't put a warning at the beginning of this chapter for the gritty images in the last half of this chapter, but I couldn't very well let you know ahead of time that George wasn't cancer-induced, now could I? ;) Thanks for reading as always, all, you rock!


	13. All Fall Down

_Strong till you break  
Know that we all fall down  
-One Republic_

* * *

_June_

He was first aware that he was laying down on something soft. Then he was aware that he wasn't in a lot of pain and that there were clean bandages all over his body. He slowly cracked open his eyes and was met with a large, bright room, with a large band of sunshine streaming in the tall open window.

It took a good few minutes of closing his eyes again and opening them just a little more before he felt they were adjusted enough to the light. He could see a man with gray hair and beard in chair near the door, leisurely flipping through an old car magazine.

The soldier tried to ask where he was but all that came out was a strange croak from a parched throat. The older man looked up with a smile.

"Hey, you're awake." He tossed his magazine aside and retrieved a water bottle and straw from the night stand beside the bed and proceeded to help the soldier on the bed have a drink.

"What… what happened?"

"You pulled through, kiddo. We didn't think you were going to. You were in pretty rough shape these past couple weeks."

The young soldier squinted his eyes slightly, unsure. "Kiddo?"

"Yeah, kiddo. It's a nick-name. Like son, tiger, sport… kiddo. You know."

He shook his head slightly, confused.

The older man waved his hand. "Don't worry about it. So what's your name?"

The soldier opened his mouth to reply and then found he had no answer. How could he not have a name? That was important, right? The older man wouldn't be asking if it wasn't important…

The man raised an eyebrow at him. "You okay, kiddo?"

He looked around desperately for something to help him, knowing there was nothing that could. "I – I…"

Unexplained panic was rising in him as he realized not only did he not remember ever having a name, but he didn't know where he was, how he got there, or _anything_ , in fact.

"What's going on? Where am I? What the hell happened to me?"

"Okay, calm down. You've just been through a helluva time – "

"I… I don't have a name, I don't… I – "

The older man swiftly placed a calm and comforting hand on the young injured man's arm before he could get up and aggravate his injuries. "Hey, settle down now." His voice was firm but warm and the young man found himself doing as he was told. "That's it," the older man said reassuringly. "Go easy on yourself, kiddo. You went through a serious trauma. You've been hanging on by a thread - we don't know how long you were out there when we found you."

"Out where?"

"At that POW camp. They weren't exactly treating you well. It was just you and two other fellas. Well, one other fella, I guess. They were keeping you holed up in this horrible little room. We got some intel last week about a possible POW camp, and we finally were able to raid it. It was pretty trashed, all their communications equipment was totaled. You had infected wounds, you were dehydrated, starved, filthy… God knows what went on there before we found you."

The soldier was both horrified and confused. He could see the fresh cast on his left calf, he could feel the thick gauze taped to his chest, the bandage wrapped across his head and left arm, all across his hands, and sometimes it hurt if he moved a certain way. But then why didn't he remember anything?

He asked as much and the older man smiled slightly.

"Son, sometimes our brains have this way of… protecting us. Usually after a severe traumatic incident, it… well, it basically blocks your memory until you're ready to deal with things." He shrugged. "It's a relatively rare thing - probably more rare than your movies and TV shows make it out to be, but it does still happen. There's some technical term for it, but I don't know what it is."

"Psychogenic amnesia." The young man supplied automatically, but didn't know where the thought had come from.

"There ya go, kiddo. You remember something. Don't worry, it'll all come back eventually. You just lay back and get some rest. I'll be back later."

The older man winked and then headed out of the room.

The young soldier felt alone and more than a little scared, but yet somehow safe. It took a while, but eventually he was able to nod off.

* * *

When he woke next, there was a tray of food on the nightstand next to his bed. With difficultly, he propped himself up and proceeded to eat. It was a simple peanut butter and jam sandwich with a glass of water to drink, but it filled his rumbling stomach and was the best thing he could remember tasting. In truth, it was the _only_ thing he could remember tasting, but that was beside the point. And he wasn't going to think about how much he couldn't remember, because he was pretty sure it'd send him into a panic again.

Judging by the light he could see outside, it looked like it was either sunrise or sunset. It didn't take long before he somehow felt weary again and lay back down to sleep some more.

* * *

He opened his eyes and realized it was day time, though since he had no idea which way the window faced, he didn't know what time of day exactly.

"Hey kiddo, how're you feelin'?" The older man from before was in the chair by the door.

"Sore. Better, I guess, but not great."

"That's to be expected. You just thank your guardian angel that you're alive." He gave the soldier a knowing wink. "You know son, I realized I never properly introduced myself. I'm Sergeant Butch Wiker, but the boys here call me Gris - you know, like that fella Grissom from that _CSI_ show? They say it's 'cause I never miss a detail." He chuckled.

"At least they don't call you Horatio," the soldier said without thinking. He didn't know what made him say it - who was Horatio? Where had that thought come from? - but Butch, or Gris, laughed.

"That is true," He nodded, then asked, "You hungry?"

The soldier shook his head. "I'm actually alright, thanks anyways."

"Alright. Well you just holler if you need anything." Gris gave the soldier a quick wave and then left the room.

The soldier studied the room a bit. The bed was clean and white with a large, plain blue blanket on top. Nearly everything about the room was completely plain: there were no pictures, no other furniture aside from the chair and the nightstand, which were also just simple and plain. There were no books or a TV or anything to entertain himself with and he didn't feel tired anymore. He didn't know what else to do, so he simply shut his eyes and tried as hard as he could to summon any sort of memories to his mind.

He thought about the words Gris had said to him about the POW camp and the two men he'd been with, but no emotion or memory came to him. He focused on clearing his mind of every thought, hoping something helpful would pop in on its own, but nothing did. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, trying to just think of a name. Any name, one that maybe could be his. But he didn't know any names other than the Gris' and that was obviously not his name. He desperately tried to think of _something_ , but there was nothing.

It was like he was a completely clean slate and things only were written on that slate as they happened. Like he knew the blanket was blue, he didn't know what time of day it was because there was no clock, he knew that the older man had a beard and that he was wearing fatigues with colors and patches to identify him as a higher ranking official. Aside from the small handful of things basically in front of his face, he didn't seem to know or be able to recall anything else.

It was the most helpless feeling in the world, being trapped by nothing, and yet everything, at the same time.

Frustrated, he simply lay on his side and watched the sunlight crawl across the wall until it disappeared and he fell asleep.

* * *

The next day when Gris visited, he stayed with the soldier and talked to him for a while. He told the soldier about how he was being taken care of in an American base stationed in Iraq. The base's main purpose was the transfer of supplies to more remote bases further inland. Gris explained that while they had a lot of down time in between shipments and supply runs, their job was one of the more dangerous ones as they had to drive or fly helicopters through unstable zones nearly every day.

The conversation ended up being fairly one-sided, as the soldier didn't exactly have much to contribute with, though he tried to ask questions. The strangest part of listening to Gris talk was that while he had no specific or previous memories about the army, or bases, supply runs, roadside bombs, and so on, he understood nearly everything the older man spoke about. It was somehow like everything was there, somewhere in his head, allowing him to comprehend and know about the things Gris was talking about, but it wasn't letting him "go deeper" or "see" past the immediate.

It was frustrating and impossible to explain so he didn't even try and simply let Gris talk. After a while Gris said he had things to do and had to leave, but promised to come by in the evening with some food and some of the other men in the base so the soldier could know a few more faces.

True to his word, around the time that the soldier's stomach started grumbling, Gris arrived with a tray of warm roast beef and potatoes followed by a trio of men. The first was Wes Cander, a brown-eyed man from Illinois. He smiled a lot and Gris said Wes' nickname was Sunshine for his constant grinning and optimism. The soldier liked his friendly manner immediately.

Next was Joe Blasgow from New York, who seemed Wes' opposite with a dark gaze and a seemingly constant frown. He was pleasant enough, however, and the soldier concluded Joe was just a very serious person. Last was Freddie McTaggart who was born in Scotland but moved to Montana as boy, with reddish colored hair and just a hint of an accent that come out on certain words.

The guys proceeded to set up a small table in the corner of the soldier's room and taught him how to play poker. Or, more correctly, apparently refreshed him. As the soldier played, he realized he'd played before, though he clearly wasn't very good at it.

"Good for you," Wes had slapped him heartily on the back when the soldier had said as much. "Gris said you'd start remembering things. Poker is just the beginning."

"I just wish I had a name, at least." said the soldier sullenly.

"It'll come." Wes said encouragingly.

The soldier sure hoped so.

* * *

Over the next several days, the soldier with no name continued to heal and got to know the guys in the base. Wes brought the soldier a bunch of books and magazines to help pass the time, and Freddie set up a dart board on the wall. The soldier practiced often, especially late at night when he couldn't sleep. Joe usually came back after he'd been out on a supply run to talk about how it went. The more he got to know Joe, the more the soldier liked him. Joe was very serious at first, but had a sharp, sarcastic kind of humor and a way of talking that made everyone listen.

Soon the soldier was well enough to leave his room, so he started roaming the base a bit. He was restricted to the rehab/rec building and only allowed outside with an escort, but he didn't mind. He was just glad to be out of his room. He began attending more of the group activities the men organized to have some fun and cure boredom and learned he really enjoyed watching movies (and seemed to have seen most of the ones they watched).

He also learned that Gris was very well-liked and respected amongst the group. He was a father figure as well as an authority figure and the soldier soon began to develop a deep bond and friendship with the older man. The soldier appreciated the men in the base and felt quite safe and protected amongst them.

The only problems were that he really hated the crutches and he was really tired of not having a name. Everyone called him buddy, kiddo, friend, pal or any number of other generic nicknames. And while he was surrounded by men he began to consider good friends, at night he still found himself feeling alone and removed, praying for his memory to return.

* * *

About three weeks after he'd first woken up in the base, the soldier was playing cards late one night with Gris. Most of the others had gone to bed, as there was to be a training exercise the next day. Gris had opted to keep the young soldier company for a few more hours before he headed to bed himself.

"Gris, can I ask you something?"

"Fire away, kiddo."

"What if… what if I never remember what happened to me?"

"That might not be such a bad thing. I've told you before what we found when we rescued you. It was total hell. I don't think that's something you want to remember."

The young man nodded slowly. "But it'd be something. I don't remember anything specific about my life before. I thought something would've come back to me by now."

"These things take time. You can't rush 'em. Knew a fella once who took a blow to the head during a combat mission. Woke up and couldn't remember the past three years. Couple months later, a buddy of his got a care package from home with some shampoo and soap in it, and for whatever reason, the smell of the shampoo brought it all back for him." Gris shrugged. "You never know."

The soldier nodded and took his turn. He swallowed, struggling to say the next part, afraid to voice it. "But… what if i-it doesn't come back? What if… I never know who I am? How could I go on like that?"

"Look kiddo, I don't think you need to worry about it. You're bright, and your memories aren't _gone_. They're just hidden. All it takes is the right trigger. And you don't know what it'll be or when it'll happen, it just will." Gris patted the soldier's shoulder. "You just keep going, takin' one day at a time."

The pair finished the hand and Gris began to shuffle.

The young soldier looked down at his hands which were covered in old bruises, burns and cuts and in the process of healing. He'd been too scared to ask for the past little while, but now he couldn't take not knowing any longer.

"What happened to the other two?" He questioned. "The two other men who were with me when you… when you found us. You said there was me and two other guys."

Gris' shoulders sagged and he stopped shuffling. "They didn't make it." He said sadly. The soldier could sense that there was a lot more to it than that, but at that moment, really didn't think he wanted to hear it.

Even so, his eyes filled with tears. He'd known those other two men, maybe cared for them. Some part of him, his heart maybe, told him so. "I think they were my friends." He said quietly.

"I'm sorry."

The young man nodded slowly and then the other thing that had been bothering him greatly came to mind. He hesitated, almost unable to say it.

"What else?" asked Gris, seeing the way the soldier was shifting and trying to speak but failing.

"I… I don't have a name." The young man winced, finally managing to say the thing that had been bothering him most these past few weeks. "I still don't have a name and… I…" He shook his head as he trailed off.

Gris looked at the soldier thoughtfully then said, "You know, you remind me a lot of my son, James. Smart, strong, good kid. You can use his name, if you want. 'Till you remember yours."

The soldier nodded slowly. "James," he said, trying the name out. "James."

Gris glanced at his watch. "I'm sorry to leave you now, kiddo, but I got to get some shut eye." He stood and patted the soldier's shoulder before heading out of the room.

"James..." The soldier said to the room a few minutes later. "James."

It didn't feel right, but it would do for now. He couldn't just go around without a name any longer. He moved to the small mirror leaning against the wall in the corner and regarded himself.

Wes was a good five or six inches taller than him but Joe was about the same height as the soldier, which seemed to be about average height. He had bright blue eyes and his brown hair had grown out a bit from what probably had been a buzzed or very short cut like the rest of the men at the base had. Along his hairline on the left was a dark brownish colored line that had been a deep stitched up gash and was still healing. Near the wound, his skin was pink and a little rippled and scabbed as it recovered from a serious burn. He gingerly touched his thumb to the bruised and previously stitched up area on his right cheekbone and wished he could just remember how he'd gotten it.

The borrowed fatigues he wore were a bit big for him but fit well enough on his average but muscular frame. He looked down at his hands and sighed at the sight of the slowly healing burns and scrapes. For the slightest second, somewhere in the back of his mind, there was vague image of fire and noise. He shut his eyes and tried to latch onto it, make it clearer, but it wouldn't come.

With a frustrated sigh he turned his back on the mirror and climbed into bed. He stared at the ceiling for a long time before he was finally able to drift off.


	14. What A Day

_Bring on the evidence  
Of my life…  
-Greg Laswell_

* * *

_One Month Later – End of July_

"Hey James, how's it going?"

"Ah, much better now that I'm off those damn crutches." James grinned at his friend.

"Oh, I'll bet," laughed Wes. "Hey, some of the boys are having a games night in the main rec room. You wanna come join us?"

"Sure, sounds good."

Wes stopped walking for a moment, wincing as he held his stomach.

"You okay?"

Wes breathed slowly and nodded. "Yeah, fine. Just having some weird stomach issues. I think it was that fish Kyle made yesterday. I thought it seemed kinda sketchy."

James smiled sympathetically. "Yeah, Kyle likes to think he's a good cook, but he's, uh, really not."

The other man laughed. "You're telling me. I'm his bunk-buddy which somehow makes me the one who has to taste all of his creations. I told him he really needs to just stick to helping out Chef, but he says that's no fun."

The pair continued on to the main rec room. Though he was off crutches finally, James still had to hobble around with a large walking splint. Wes slowed his pace to match his friend's and chatted happily about his day thus far. When they reached the rec room, about a dozen of the men were already gathered at various tables playing a variety of games. Wes and James opted to join the home-made Craps table where Freddie was on a winning streak. The guys cheered each time Freddie got lucky and _oohhed_ dramatically when he failed.

"Give 'er a roll, James!" Freddie handed the dice to James who blew on them for good luck.

"Here goes nothing," he grinned and threw the dice. It was a seven, causing the guys to cheer and clap loudly.

"You're a natural!" Wes joked. He took his turn a few minutes later when James' luck ran out.

After several rounds (and watching Freddie win some more), James moved on to the table where the guys were playing an aggressive and "updated" version of the old board game _Sorry_. They'd created a whole new set of rules to go with the original ones, which included things like if you drew a card with a 3 on it, you had to punch the guy to your left on the shoulder or if you drew an 8, you had to do a shot of tequila. And if you drew a 12, you had to run outside and do a lap around the building and make it back before it was your turn again, else your turn was skipped. The game's number of allotted players was full already but James was content to simply watch, as it was highly entertaining.

"A six! You've got to be kidding me!" Ryan groaned. A six required the player to drop to the floor and do one-handed push-ups until it was their turn again and poor Ryan had managed to draw a six three times in a row.

Next was Joe who drew an 8 and did a shot of tequila, followed by Kyle who got lucky by drawing a 1, which meant nothing had to happen except a normal turn. Just as Hank was taking his turn, James happened to glance up to see Wes clutching at his side, his features creased with pain. His friend took a few unsteady steps towards the couch near the door and James knew instinctively that his friend wasn't suffering from bad fish.

He hurried over to Wes who was clenching his teeth as sweat beaded on his forehead.

"Wes, how long have you been feeling pain?" James asked immediately.

"A-a while…" Wes said. "Since… about… lunch time."

James touched Wes' forehead which felt hot to the touch. "Lift up your shirt." He instructed and Wes did as he was told. James pressed on his friend's abdomen gently at first then a little more firmly and Wes tensed and inhaled sharply. He asked Wes to lay down on the couch and lift his right thigh as James put pressure on Wes' right knee. As soon as Wes tried, he stopped, tensing with pain again.

"Freddie," James waved the red-haired man over. "Get Gris. Now."

* * *

Gris emerged from the examining room and James stood immediately from the gray chair by the door.

"Well?"

"He's alright," the older man assured him. "They took his appendix out before it burst. He's going to need a few days off his feet to rest and recover, but he's going to be just fine."

James exhaled in relief.

"That was some great medicine you did there, kiddo. How did you know so quick that he had appendicitis?" asked Gris.

"I-I don't know. I just… I saw him in pain, and he'd had it earlier too. As soon as I got to him, something took over and I… I just knew _exactly_ what to do." He shrugged.

"Well, you probably saved his life." Gris gave James a hearty slap on the back. "Maybe you had something to do in the medical field, hm?"

"Maybe." James nodded.

As Gris left, James settled back down into the gray chair, unsure of whether he should go in to see Wes or head back to his room or the games night still going on in the rec room. He hated that he didn't know _why_ he'd known what was happening to Wes. Just like he knew he'd seen _The Manchurian Candidate_ when the guys watched it a few weeks ago, or how he knew how to play poker, get dressed in the morning, make scrambled eggs or tie his shoes. He didn't know _how_ he knew all these things, however, and it was eating at him something fierce.

He finally decided to visit Wes tomorrow and went back to his room, suddenly feeling anti-social, wrapped up in his anger at his lack of memories. It'd been almost two and a half months since he'd first woken up in this base and still he didn't know how he'd gotten there or where he'd come from or anything. He'd thought that _surely_ by now something would've happened to trigger something, _anything_.

He slammed his door shut, his frustration boiling over. He was trying to be patient, trying to just take things as they came, one day at a time as Gris kept telling him to do. He was trying, he really was. But at that moment he just wanted to scream and shout and somehow physically dive into his mind and unbury whatever it was hiding. What had happened? Why the hell couldn't he remember a damn thing?

And how long was he supposed to stay like this? Did he just stay at this base, with these men? He surely had somewhere to be, someone who cared for him, somewhere, but if he didn't know, didn't remember them, how could he ever go back to them? So after a few months of healing, did he simply just move somewhere and start a new life? Completely start fresh and never remember what he lost? Or did he even have anything to lose in the first place?

He stopped in front of the mirror, staring at his angry reflection. He lashed out and punched the glass hard, leaving a small spidery crack where his hand had hit and his knuckles throbbing.

* * *

The next day, James found himself to be in a foul, broody mood. He kept to himself, though he'd meant to visit Wes. His anger over his lack of memories from the night before was still with him and he found himself pacing and getting angrier. He repeatedly attempted to focus on reading a book or some magazines, but they somehow seemed to tease him in a way he couldn't articulate, like they knew something he didn't, like he'd read them before but didn't know it, which only served to further aggravate his already sour mood.

Sometime after lunch, Freddie stopped by. He knocked lightly and leaned his head in. "Hey James, you alright man? Didn't see you after Wes' thing last night and you weren't at breakfast or lunch."

"I'm not James," he snapped.

Freddie looked at him unsurely. "Right, I know, but you, uh, well… Look, you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine." James said hotly, keeping his back to his friend.

"Right, okay. Uh, see you 'round?"

James didn't answer and Freddie left awkwardly a moment later.

It wasn't long before Freddie came back, saying that Gris wanted to see James in his office. He was quite sure Freddie had gone straight to Gris with his concern over their encounter and silently cursed his friend. The last thing he wanted to do right now was talk to the older man who was going to try and tell him encouraging stories of some fella he knew who had once been in a similar situation. He really just wanted to be left alone so he could work out his anger on his own.

Freddie wouldn't take no for an answer, however, and soon James had no choice but to follow him to Gris' office where Freddie retreated, quietly shutting the door behind him.

"Is there something you want to talk about, kiddo?"

James didn't answer.

Gris sighed. "Look, I know this can't be easy, and I wish there was something I could do to help you. I've dealt with a couple of similar cases before, you know, so talking to me… I'm just saying it might help."

There was a long silence where James picked at the fabric on the arm of the chair he was seated in and didn't meet Gris' eyes. Finally he began,

"It's just… I…"

Gris waited patiently.

"I know things. I know how to read, I-I can write a letter, sing the alphabet. I can walk, talk… everything. But I-I don't know I know these things until… well, until they come up." James looked up. "How do I know what to do when a man falls down with appendicitis, but I don't know my own name or what the hell happened to me just a few months ago?"

"Don't be so hard on yourself, kiddo, I told you these things take time."

"It's been more than two months, Gris!" His voice began to rise as his emotions began to take over. "I know how to - to properly bandage someone's leg, I know what a roadside bomb is, I know what going out on patrol means. But I don't know my own birthday or why I have a-a scar on my head!" He stood up, yelling now. "I don't know who my parents are or if I _have_ parents or if I have friends - I don't even know if anyone is _looking_ for me!"

"Calm down now, just take a second James – "

" _That's not my name!_ "

Gris fell silent.

A solid few minutes of quiet passed between them as James struggled to calm down and Gris tried to find the words to say. He was experienced in probably every situation someone could think of, except this. He'd had boys before who lost small chunks of memory after a traumatic battle, but something would trigger them and everything would come flooding back. Before him was a boy who'd been here for months, with nothing to show for it except some healing scars. How long would it be before he got his memories back? Would he ever? Gris was at a loss to offer the kid any more words of comfort.

Finally it was James who broke the silence first.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I just… I don't understand why this is happening to me. And I-I don't understand how to fix it."

Gris looked at the lost young man whose eyes were glistening with tears. "I don't either, kiddo. And I wish I did."

James clenched his jaw. "I'm just so tired of feeling like I'm living in the dark, with just a little spotlight of-of things illuminated. I just need something to change, something to happen."

Gris sighed heavily. "Look kiddo, I… there's something I should show you." He opened his desk drawer and pulled out a small shoe box, setting it on the desk between them. "When we found you, there was this rusty bin by the door to Arabs' main room, which I can only assume was a garbage can. I only noticed it because on our way out, Ryan accidentally kicked it over.

"Why those Arabs kept the stuff that was in there in the first place, I have no idea. But I saw some things that sure looked like personal effects, so I scooped them up, tossed out the obvious garbage 'course, and thought I oughta keep them if you pulled through, in case any of them were yours. I completely forgot about them once we got back to the base and I put them away for safe keeping. I was worried that if I showed them to you and it triggered memories of your time in the camp…

"Well, let's just say I probably should've remembered them a lot sooner. I hope they help." He pushed the shoebox towards James. He grabbed his coffee mug and left his office, giving James some privacy.

James hesitated for a just a moment before scooping up the box and slowly taking off the lid. Inside was a pair of dog tags covered in dirt and dried blood, sitting on top of a crumpled and dirty photograph. He uncurled it and gently brushed it off with his sleeve. The photo was quite damaged with burned edges, a large rip and dried brown splotches everywhere, but he could still make out what it depicted. A man with black hair was grinning widely, his arm around a pretty red-haired woman.

_Miss Annabelle Ruth Benford…_

The name popped into his mind and he felt a slight surge of adrenaline. Was the contents of this box the trigger he needed? He'd remembered a name – that had to be a good sign. He assumed the name belonged to the pretty red-head, although he was at a loss as to who the black-haired man was or where the name had come from.

He looked at the name on the dog tags, which had apparently belonged to one Anthony W Robinson. He wondered if Anthony was perhaps his name or the name of the man in the picture or someone else entirely. He frowned as nothing else came to him and looked at the rest of box's contents.

There was a beat-up silver Zippo lighter that didn't work and another set of dog tags that were so caked with soot and dirt, and were so scratched up they were virtually impossible to read. Most of the name was missing on it as a result; the top row for a last name read _tzer_ and the next line for the first name and middle initial was _ter B_. At the bottom of the box was another mostly destroyed photograph. This one probably once had two people in it as well, though the photo was ripped and burned in such a way that the only part of the person on the left that could be distinguished was his or her waist (the bottom of a green t-shirt covering the top of a pair of jeans) and an arm extending onto the woman on the right's shoulders. Because of the poor state of the photograph it was difficult to tell, but it looked like the woman was blonde and wearing a pretty blue dress. She was laughing and he thought she was lovely. Unlike with the first photograph, however, no name came to mind this time. Something, though, was familiar about this one, this woman. Something stirred in the back of his mind as he stared at her, but no name or memory emerged.

He replaced all the items in the box just as Gris reentered the office.

"Well?" the older man asked hopefully.

James shook his head. "I don't think so."

"Ah well, it was worth a try."

"Thank you, Gris, for this."

"You're welcome, kiddo." Gris smiled warmly. "And I know you really don't want to hear me say it again, but, just be patient. Take it one day at a time. It's not like we're in any rush to get you out of here, so you know you can stay for as long as it takes, okay? Until you're ready."

James nodded and thanked Gris again before heading back to his room. He spent pretty well the rest of the afternoon looking at the small collection of items in the box and somehow couldn't stop looking back at the wrecked photo of the blonde.


	15. Someone Else's Life

_When I'm lost I look at my picture of you_ _...  
-Joshua Radin_

* * *

_August_

"You wanted to see me?"

"Sure did, kiddo, come on in."

James shut the door behind himself and took a seat. He'd been helping Hank and Freddie load a bunch of supplies onto a truck for an outgoing shipment when Joe had come by and said Gris needed to see him. As James had hurried to the Admin building and Barracks, he'd wondered what Gris needed to talk to him about and hoped it was some sort of good news.

"I did some digging for you. We should've done this before, but I was relying on your memory coming back," said Gris, pulling a large stack of papers inside a folder from his desk drawer. "I pulled some strings and managed to get a list of names of army personnel who've been MIA since March of this year."

"March?"

"I know we found you back in May, but we don't know how long you were there, so I thought it couldn't hurt."

James nodded.

"It might be a bit of a long shot, but… I was thinkin' that maybe if you looked at the list, your name might be on it and you'll remember something. Might be another trigger we can try."

"I'll give it a try. Thanks."

"I'm going to keep trying to think of things to help you, kiddo. You really do remind me of my son." Gris smiled warmly at James. "I can't bear to see you carrying around this weight."

James smiled back. "Thank you, Gris. For doing this. You don't – you don't have to. So thank you." He took the folder and headed to one of the smaller lunch rooms to sit down and study it, where it was empty and quiet since it was around mid-afternoon.

It was a terribly long list, which instantly made him sad. It'd been about five months since March and this was only the list of missing, not including the dead. His eyes started looking down the list, which was in order of when they'd gone missing.

_Arsenault, Edward  
Popovich, Grady  
Smith, Kent_ _  
Boon, Trisha  
Huntington, Frankie… _

He'd been reading the list for a solid ten minutes and had reached the name of Private Isobel Jackson when it happened.

_Blonde hair, laughter._

" _George, stop, I can barely breathe!"_

It was so quick he almost didn't realize it'd happened. But he knew right away what it was: a memory. He shut his eyes and tried to picture it clearly and could only see vague shapes and hear the female voice saying those few words. He didn't know who she was, and like a dream, he could see her face but not see any sort of recognizable detail. He was somehow sure, however, that it had to be the woman in the ruined picture.

She'd called him George. _His name was George_. Unlike when someone called him James, this felt right. It was a feeling he couldn't articulate, but that woman, she knew him, and his name was George.

He jumped up and ran to Gris' office. He wasn't there, but James – George found him moments later in one of the main tents, studying some maps. He hurried towards him, nearly breathless.

"It's George. I'm - my name is George. I'm… George."

Gris looked up immediately. "You found it? You found your name?"

"I… no."

Gris' eyebrows knit together in confusion for a second and then his eyes lit up with excitement. "You remember, kiddo!"

He opened his mouth and then said lamely, "Uh, not really… no."

Gris deflated slightly. "How do you know then?"

He pointed out the name on the list. "When I read this name, I saw a woman. She had blonde hair and she was happy and she called me George. I think… I think maybe I know her."

Gris took the list and they made their way quickly back to Gris' office where he sat down at his computer immediately. He brought up a database of sorts and began typing furiously. A moment later he turned the screen so the other man could see it.

"Is that her?" Gris asked.

He looked at the picture on the onscreen file of Isobel Jackson. It was hard to tell, as her hair was pulled back tight and she wasn't smiling. But her hair seemed too dark to be blonde and something wasn't right about her eyes. He shook his head.

"No. That's not the woman I saw."

"Do you know her at all, though?"

George studied her for a moment longer, willing anything familiar to come to him. A feeling, flash of memory, anything…

"No."

Gris nodded and turned his screen back towards him. "Well, at least it's something, kiddo. You got a name now." He cracked a smile. "It'll all come back soon now, I'm sure."

George smiled back. He had a name.

* * *

_Blonde hair, laughter._

_"George, stop, I can barely breathe!" She clutched at her stomach._

_He was blowing on a paper party favor and making silly gestures with his hands. She was supposed to be cutting the cake but he was busy distracting her._

_"Stop for one second, please," she gasped, wiping her eyes from tears of laughter._

_He laughed too, tossing his arm around her shoulder just as someone came up and said, "Picture!"_

_He grinned widely as the flash went off._

* * *

George opened his eyes with a start, breathing heavily. It was her birthday. And the person in the green shirt with his arm around the pretty blonde in the blue dress was _him_. A memory, _finally_ , a real memory. Something tangible, something more than the vague feelings of _I just know_.

He threw off the covers and started pacing his room, even though by the clock on the nightstand it was two in the morning. He didn't know if he could sleep now, as he kept replaying the memory that had just played out in his dreams. Part of him tried to warn that maybe that's all it was: a dream, based off the photograph. But he refused to listen. He knew – he _knew_ it was real.

He flicked on the light and dug out the picture from the shoebox under the bed. He stared at its every detail: the way his hand was draped on her shoulder, the way her eyes were sparkling, the shadow of a china cabinet in the background…

And then he knew. _She_ was the trigger. He suddenly felt unshakably certain that if he could just remember her name, then everything would come back. Just like he couldn't explain how he knew that Wes had appendicitis or why he was bad at poker, he couldn't explain how he knew that this woman was the key.

He turned off the light and crawled back into bed, his mind buzzing. Tomorrow he was going to figure out once and for all how to get his memories back. He appreciated Gris' caring way of asking him to be patient, but he wasn't going to wait around any longer.

All he needed was her name.

* * *

The first thing George did when he got up that morning, was seek out the physical therapist who'd been helping him heal his leg. He was hoping that there was a clinical psychologist or perhaps a therapist in the base somewhere who he could talk to who would be able to help him trigger his memories.

Joshua explained that they used to have a sort of counselor around to help the men with the daily stresses they experienced, but she'd become very ill and had been transferred back to the city and last he heard, back to America. They'd gone without anyone with that sort of role for several months, as there'd been no one to replace her.

"Higher-ups consider us a lower priority base for stuff like that," Joshua rolled his eyes. "They figure because we're not directly on the front lines, we apparently don't have quite enough stress to require an on-site psychologist. They gave us a number we can call, but I don't think any one ever bothers. They're back in California, so our time-zones don't exactly jive."

George nodded disappointedly but before he could leave, Joshua continued.

"You're in luck, though, pal, because I just heard Hank talking about how they've apparently finally found somebody. She's supposed to be in next week, staying beside the women's barracks." Joshua smiled. "You think she'll able to help you with the - " He tapped the side of his head. " – thing?"

"That's the theory," George shrugged and thanked Joshua.

* * *

_September_

Except she wasn't in next week or even the week after that. First there was a mix-up with her flight and then a family emergency. As the days went by, George had to wonder if the universe was in fact conspiring against him. Once again he began to feel powerless and frustrated.

To help keep him busy, Gris started teaching George about different duties around the base. They both figured that in the event that the psychologist wasn't able to help George and he continued to have no memory, he would at least be able to become a part of the unit and make himself useful.

"Now this is the Communications area," explained Gris as they entered a small room jammed with computers and machines with tons of screens and various printers all saying different things or spewing various read-outs. A thin black man was bent over a table in the middle of the room that was covered with papers and maps. "And this is Eddie, our Comm master and resident techie. He's in charge of pretty well everything that goes on in here. And can fix practically anything."

Eddie looked up with a smile and shook George's hand. "Welcome to the chaos, pal. Find a seat if you can."

Gris stayed to chat with Eddie about a few things and then said he'd leave the pair of them to get some work done. Eddie proceeded to explain a bit about all the monitors everywhere. There were machines to send messages between bases, machines to be used in emergencies only, machines for radar outposts monitoring any unusual activity and machines for detecting activity within 50 miles, 30 miles, 20 miles and 10 miles or less of the base.

"Then of course we've got all these ones over here, which logs all the information about our supply runs. How much went where and who took it there. Their base will confirm they received the shipment usually through that one over there." Eddie gestured and pointed as he talked. "My job is to watch all the print-outs these things are constantly spitting out. Anything normal I file over there, anything a little off I flag and file there for Freddie to look over in the afternoons. And anything really weird, I run straight over to Gris."

George nodded along, a little overwhelmed but keeping up more or less.

Eddie laughed. "Eddie and Freddie - sounds like a bad comedy duo, don't it?"

"It does," George agreed with a chuckle.

Eddie continued, "Most days it's just me and Freddie in here, but since you're here, you'll be a big help," He grinned and slapped George on the back. "Since they're really not high priority, the supply run logs tend to get pretty overlooked. I'd like you to look at these supply run sheets from last few months and tell me if you see anything strange."

"I'm uh, not really sure what I should be looking for…"

Eddie scooped up a massive stack of papers and cleared a space on the messy table in front of George. He took the one off the top to show him. "It's real simple. The numbers need to match up, see? This is how much we sent, and on what day, and over here is when it was received and by who. Just flag anything that doesn't match and Freddie or I will take a look. And don't be afraid to use any of the stuff in here to check dates and facts or whatever. Just get me to show you how."

"Alright." George still wasn't a hundred percent sure he knew what he was supposed to be doing, but started going through the large pile of papers anyway.

Eddie cranked up some rock music on his stereo as he tapped away on the keyboard of one of the computers, humming along to whatever song played next.

It was terribly tedious work, but it was just enough to keep his mind occupied, which is exactly what he needed. After asking some more questions of Eddie, he started to get the hang of what he needed to look for and what he needed to flag. A few times he had Eddie show him how to look up certain things on some of the computers, but for the most part, he was able to figure things out on his own.

He had completed probably more than a third of the pile when he realized he was starting to see a pattern.

"Hey, Eddie?"

"Yeah?" He twirled his chair to face George.

"Something kinda weird…"

"Let's see."

George brought some of the papers over. "This one here. It was a full shipment, sent on July 23rd and received on July 26th, but missing just a few items."

"Yeah, the roads we travel are not exactly the smoothest or the safest. Sometimes the truck jostling causes damage, or there's an incident with some unfriendly fire, stuff like that. It's not uncommon to lose a handful of stuff like that on a shipment. You can flag it anyways, though, and we can get Freddie to look at it closer."

"I did. But here's the thing. I thought I'd seen that truck number on another one of the shipments I flagged, so I checked back. A few weeks before this, a full shipment sent out on July 1st was received on the 5th with several items missing as well. Looks like general food items and a couple units of ammo."

Eddie's brows knit together as he studied the papers George was handing him. "Ammo?"

"After that I went even further back. The truck number started changing, but there's a pattern, see? Every twenty days or so, a shipment arrives missing just enough items not to be of much concern. Most of the time, it's not even listed what's missing, just _Misc Supplies_ , and there's never a reason given for where they went. The other runs with missing items usually have a reason listed."

"A lot of the guys kind of suck at filling out forms… " Eddie trailed off as his eyes flitted over all the lines George had highlighted.

"I went all the way back to February and it's a pretty steady pattern, minus one time in May and once in June where everything seemed accounted for. They've been doing just a little at a time so that no one has even noticed. And there's more."

Eddie looked up worriedly.

George grabbed some maps and the other print-outs and papers he'd been working with. "At the end of April, one of the supply trucks reported their long range sensors crashing moments before they were attacked. Most of the men survived the attack it looks like, and the severely injured were taken to this med base here, about 30 miles away. The rest came back here."

"Okay, what does this have to do with the pattern?"

"Because the day of the attack was, based on the pattern, one of the runs where supplies were supposed to go missing. Sir, based on everything I've found in all your information here, I think someone has purposely been giving supplies to the enemy, and on that day in April, whoever has been doing the giving either wasn't there or wanted to stop, and they were attacked for it. I think they've been giving over supplies ever since out of fear."

Eddie leaned back in his chair reeling a little.

George shifted his weight uneasily. "I-I mean, I could be wrong. It's only my first day, you know." He forced a little laugh.

"You could be," The other man agreed. "But you could also be right. I've gotten so used to seeing reports with just a few items missing that I stopped flagging after a while, and that attack – Freddie and I just chalked it up to the usual fire-fights that break out every once in a while out here."

They were quiet for a few moments, thinking about the possibility that someone in the base was feeding supplies to the enemy. Abruptly Eddie whirled over to a set of double monitors and started typing furiously. George waited, not wanting to break the man's train of thought.

Eddie swore a moment later.

"What is it?"

"I was trying to think if there were any guys who always go on runs together. Usually a run has three or more guys on it, but there's one pair who handle runs by themselves. Their last run was July 23rd – that first shipment you showed me."

"And?"

"I just looked up their roster. And it looks like every time they've been together, has been one of those missing item shipments."

"But – I hope you don't me asking, but how did no one notice before that every time they go, stuff goes missing?"

"I told you earlier: the roads out here suck. It's pretty common for stuff to break or whatever in transit. I'd wager nearly every other shipment loses at least a few items. It just was never enough to be concerned about. And those guys go out on other shipments too, where nothing goes missing."

"So… well, I could be wrong then."

"Maybe." Eddie said grimly. Then added, "We've got to take this to Gris."


	16. Breathing Space

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: This chapter doesn't have a song snippet, as the song choice is an instrumental piece. This is quite a long chapter, but nothing could be cut down. And my knowledge of clinical psychologists comes from Libby and her experience with Claire on Lost, so you know. :P

* * *

Eddie, Gris and Freddie spent the next entire day closed up in the Communications room searching through print-outs, databases and more. George was put on cleaning duty with Wes, who somehow managed to find the bright side to scrubbing floors and walls.

"At least they're not _too_ filthy," he smiled.

George couldn't help but laugh. "Whatever you say, Sunshine."

It wasn't until late evening that George finally got an update from Gris.

"You were right, kiddo." He sighed heavily and sunk down into his office chair. He rubbed his temples with his thumb and middle finger. "You got a real sharp eye."

George nodded a little. "Thanks." He shifted uneasily, not sure if he should be asking the question in the forefront of his mind.

The older man seemed to know, however, and provided an answer anyways. "They'll be dealt with - the two fellas who were heading this missing supplies operation. Myself and a couple of the other Captains will be talking to them tomorrow."

"I'm sorry I was right," George offered somberly.

"Yeah, well."

George could tell the older man was deeply disappointed and angered by the idea of any of the men under his command feeding supplies to the enemies and understood how he felt. He was unable to offer any words of comfort, however. What was there to even say at a time like this?

"Anyways," Gris heaved another sigh. "In much brighter news, that clinical psychologist is finally, officially on her way."

George felt a bubble of excitement swell in his chest.

"She'll be arriving here on Monday."

* * *

Her name was Barbara-Ann Doughty and she looked to be about Gris' age, with graying hair and a lined face. She had an interesting air about her that was a strange mix of intimidation and welcoming. Upon meeting her, George both wanted to call her Ma'am and give her a hug.

Holed up in her freshly, if sparsely, accommodated office (previously a storage room), she made George feel at ease quite quickly. It wasn't long before his nerves dissipated and he told her his story, about his lack of memory, the photograph and the blonde.

"I just want my memory back and I'm hoping… I'm hoping you can help me do that."

Barbara nodded thoughtfully. "There are a few methods we could try to help encourage your brain to unblock those memories."

"Great, let's do it."

"Not so fast, George. You have to understand that there is a reason your brain decided to block these memories in the first place." She explained, her words colored by a slight Southern accent. "It may not feel healed enough to release them to you so there's nothing we can do to force it. We can try, but I'm not guaranteeing anything. So don't go getting your hopes up."

"I understand."

"Alright." She set her pad of paper and pen aside and moved her chair so she was sitting directly across from George. "I want you to close your eyes and start taking slow, deep breaths."

He did as he was told.

"That's it, good… In and out… In, out…" She breathed slowly with him until there was a steady rhythm. She kept her voice soft and soothing as she spoke. "Listen to my voice. Clear your mind of everything else. Just breathe and listen… Good. Let yourself completely relax…"

She was quiet for a few seconds as he continued with the steady, slow breathing.

"Now I want you to visualize yourself at that birthday party with the girl. Think about what you see, what's going on around you, what you hear. Focus on it, concentrate."

Sitting stock still with his eyes closed, George followed Barbara's instructions. He thought about that piece of memory and imagined himself being there, at that very moment. He kept breathing, he focused… And just when he was about to open his eyes and tell Barbara that it wasn't working –

_Blonde hair, laughter._

_She hugged him tight, thanking him for the fun birthday. He said it was no problem at all and finally took the silly paper party hat off his head. She smiled at him in a way that made him feel like he was the only one in the world. Then she turned and started making her way around the room, hugging others and thanking them for coming._

_"That was fun," Callie came up beside him and slipped her hand into his. "You throw a good party, O'Malley."_

_He chuckled. "I do try."_

_"You ready to go home?"_

_"Uh…" he glanced over his shoulder at the birthday girl as she let Burke and Cristina out the front door. "Actually, I was planning to stay behind and help them clean up a bit, you know."_

_Callie nodded. "Okay. I'll see you soon then." She kissed him quick and gathered up her coat and purse from the hall closet, waving goodbye to the others on her way._

_He turned and began helping Meredith gather the empties scattered around the room._

_"I think she really liked the party, George," she said._

_He shrugged modestly. "I didn't really do anything, you know. It's not like it was some, uh, big wonderful surprise party. She's known about it for weeks. And it was just the usual crew from the hospital."_

_"I know," Meredith poured several half-finished drinks down the drain in the kitchen sink. "But she looked like she had a real good time and even_ having _a party was your idea. I'm not organized enough to get everyone here on the same night like that."_

_He laughed again and then scooped up a cloth to go out to the coffee table to wipe up some spills and drink rings._

_The clean-up didn't take too long with the two girls, himself and Alex all doing it. Alex and Meredith bid them goodnight soon after and though he'd told Callie he wouldn't be long, he found he didn't want to leave. Not yet._

_The birthday girl came downstairs, now changed out of her blue party dress and into a comfy pair of pajama pants and old gray t-shirt. She settled onto the couch beside him with a sigh and a grin, thanking him once again for the great party._

_"Hey, I'm your person. It's what… persons – people? Best friends. It's what we do."_

_She giggled then said, "You know, since it is my birthday and I am your best friend, I think you should know, I am not nearly drunk enough. It being my birthday and all."_

_He pretended to be shocked. "Well, we're going to have to fix that immediately!" He ran to the kitchen and came back with an unopened bottle of Jack's and two glasses. He proceeded to pour them each some and handed her one of the glasses._

_"To best friends," she said with a smile._

_"To you," he said. "Happy birthday, Izzie."_

_They clinked the glasses and tossed the contents down their throats._

* * *

George opened his eyes with a sharp gasp as if he'd just come up for air. He felt completely disoriented for a second or two until Barbara put her hand on his knee.

"George?"

"I… I-I saw her." His heart was racing. The memory had appeared in his head with abrupt clarity out of no where and had flit through his mind in just a couple seconds. "It worked, I saw her."

"Good, George, good. That's a real good start."

"Her name is Izzie, and she's my best friend – " He stood up and started pacing, his mind reeling with the new information coursing through it. Little pieces of feelings felt connected, images weren't as vague anymore. He wasn't experiencing any sort of overwhelming flood of memories, but suddenly it was like a chunk of what was previously missing had been replaced. He rambled on, "It was her birthday, and Callie was there… We cleaned up the living room and then we drank Jack's and…"

He slowed to a stop realizing what Barbara had said.

"Wait, a 'good start'? What do you mean? You've got to do it again."

She shook her head. "I don't want to push you. It's good you've remembered something, but now you need to take a break. Give it a couple days and rest."

He shook his head firmly. "No way. Not when something is _finally_ happening. I need this, I need to know more. You've got to help me do it again."

"I'm sorry George, I'm not going to do that. You've got a tricky kind of amnesia. We can't exactly make anything worse, I'm not saying that by trying we could somehow… re-erase your memories, but we may not be able to make progress." She said calmly, undeterred by his irritation. "Your mind and body relaxed enough to release a little bit of a memory, but because it didn't all come back at once, it still might not be ready. Remember what I said before?"

"But there's… there _has_ to be something more we can do. Right now. I know her name now, I just - "

"You need to go distract yourself with something else. It's always better for your mind to do things in its own time." Barbara rose from her chair and moved towards the door. "Give it a couple days and then come back and see me, alright?"

He started for the door as she held it open and then he stopped. "No. No, I'm _sick_ of being patient, of waiting and of-of taking my time. She's my best friend and she cared for me and I've got to get back to her. I - I need to know more about her – I need to remember more! Can't you get that? I _have_ to get back to her."

Barbara gestured to the open door. "You've waited this long, you can wait just a little longer." Her tone was less gentle and more commanding this time and George realized it was no use arguing with her.

With a frustrated sigh he left the office and strode quickly to his room where he immediately pulled out the photo of the blonde – _of Izzie_. He had to remember more…

Then he very belatedly realized there was no reason why he couldn't try Barbara's techniques himself. He didn't need her direction – it was breathing and visualizing, that was all. He settled on the edge of the bed, clutching the photo in his hand and thought about the birthday again. Pictured himself being there, breathed deep, concentrated and focused.

He sat like that for a long time. Long enough that his back began to ache, his legs started to get pins and needles and his stomach began to grumble. There were no flashes of memory or missing pieces being revealed, but he didn't give up. He kept breathing and thinking and focusing, determinedly keeping his mind blank.

And then finally, _finally,_ something happened.

* * *

" _What do you mean you've never been out of Washington more than once? Don't you ever travel, anywhere?" She looked at him incredulously as she poured them some more Jack._

 _"Seriously, aside from that trip with my grandparents to the Grand Canyon when I was eight, I've never traveled." He took his glass. "Mom and Dad, uh, didn't travel and I used my money for college and med school. And-and like I have any time or money to travel while at the hospital. Looks like you have to drink, because you_ have _been out of Washington more than once."_

_She laughed and drank her sip._

* * *

_"It was over. It_ is _over. And it's my fault for not figuring this out sooner."_

_She shook her head. "It wasn't over. It wasn't over for me either."_

" _You married Alex, Izzie. That's about as over as it gets."_

" _It's not over." She abruptly closed the distance between them and kissed him hard._

* * *

_"Now come on, Georgie, you can do it, that's it! Keep pedaling! Good job, son!"_

_He wobbled and weaved all over the driveway, but he stayed up right, pedaling towards his father. As he was scooped up into his arms, he felt so incredibly proud of himself._

* * *

_"Okay, so I get why I haven't been camped at Izzie's bedside holding her hand today, but - "_

_"We're not talking about this." SMASH._

_"Why not?" Callie asked softly._

_"Maybe it's the fact that I asked Izzie a hundred times… what was wrong, and… she just ignored me." SMASH. "And then there's the fact that, when she actually needed help, she tr… she trusted_ Cristina. _Of all people!" SMASH._

_"And then there's the fact that she's your best friend and she might die on you. There's also that." She came towards him and gently put her hand on his, holding the hammer._

_"Come on," she said. "We are going to go wait for – come on –"_

_He tried to pull away from her as tears blurred his vision._

_"George, you were my husband and you slept with her. You are the reason that I wished her dead. You owe me this. You can lie to yourself all you want, but… I know you, I loved you once. And I know that you care if she lives or dies."_

* * *

_"You've never watched_ The Brady Bunch _?"_

_"George, I didn't sit around and watch lame old tv shows from - "_

_"They're not lame!" He said loudly then added, his words slurring, "Alright, maybe a bit. Some of them. Hogan's Heroes, now_ that _-_ _"_

_"Drink up, O'Malley!"_

_He took another sip and Izzie refilled their empty glasses._

* * *

_"I'm tellin' you George," Anthony grinned in the dim light. "Next time I go back home, I'm gonna ask her to marry me." He held out the picture of his lady, Annabelle Benford._

_"Why didn't you ask her before you left?"_

_"Because I'm a damn bloody fool, mate," Anthony laughed._

_"Hey Dick Van Dyke!" someone shouted. "You wanna keep it down? Some of us are trying to sleep!"_

_A round of laughter went through the barracks._

_"Sod off you lot," Anthony hollered good-naturedly in return. However, he continued more quietly as he asked George, "And what about you then, eh?"_

_"What about me?"_

_"You and that sensational blonde in the sexy blue dress you have a picture of."_

_"She's just my best friend, Anthony."_

_"Oh come off it, I've seen the way you look at that picture. She's a lot more than your best friend, isn't she?"_

_George sighed. "She was, once."_

* * *

_"I wish I wanted to be a chef. Or a ski instructor. Or a kindergarten teacher."_

_"You know I would've been a really good postal worker. I'm dependable." he said and Meredith chuckled. "You know my parents tell everyone they meet that their son's a surgeon. As if it's a big accomplishment. Superhero or something… If they could see me now."_

_"When I told my mother that I wanted to go to medical school, she tried to talk me out of it." She replied. "Said I didn't have what it takes to be a surgeon. That I'd never make it. So the way I see it, superhero sounds pretty damn good."_

_"We're going to survive this, right?" He asked a moment later and she smiled smally._

* * *

_"Mom! Dad!" He blasted into the kitchen, his heart practically pounding out of his chest._

_"Goodness Georgie, you scared the livers out of me. What in heavens name is wrong?"_

_"Nothing's wrong, Mom. Look!" He shoved the piece of paper at her and his father leaned sideways to see it._

_She read, "'Dear Mr. George O'Malley, We are pleased to congratulate you - '_ "

_He jumped up and whooped and his mother cried hysterically. His father even looked teary as he grinned widely from ear to ear. Ronnie and Jerry smiled, trying to be happy for him, but it was apparent they were also jealous that their baby brother was going to a big fancy medical college._

* * *

" _This is so cool. I mean, can you believe it? Tomorrow, we're gonna be surgeons!" She put on her coat as they walked out together._

_He liked her immediately. She was completely gorgeous, of course, but it was more than that. She was cool and bubbly and she really listened to him when he talked, which was nice. He didn't want to, you know, count the chickens before they hatched, because let's face it, she was like this totally stacked supermodel type and he was totally, well, he was just George, but he had a feeling they were going to be friends._

_Well, he could dream, anyway._

* * *

_Fireballs exploded everywhere, men he knew were laying on the ground, dead. And then something behind him threw him completely off his feet. There was heat and noise and he was skidding across the ground. There was screaming and shouting and something was burning and he finally came to a stop, his head spinning, pain everywhere, his ears ringing loudly, blood running in his eyes. Something was too hot behind him and he was gasping for breath._

_Anthony yanked him to his feet and they were running for their lives before suddenly there was one last bang and the world went black._

* * *

_"There's a club." Cristina said sadly. "The Dead Dads Club. And you can't be in it until you're in it. You can try and understand, you can sympathize. But until you feel that loss... My dad died when I was nine. George, I'm really sorry you had to join the club."_

_"I... I don't know how to exist in a world where my dad doesn't."_

_"Yeah, that never really changes."_

* * *

_"Look, George, about last night - "_

_"I joined the army."_

_"I – you what?"_

* * *

_"You kicked ass today, O'Malley. You kicked my ass." His friend kept his gaze trained on the glass in his hands.  
_

_"I just did what I had to do."_

_"No, no, you... kicked ass. I'm not like that. I'm good... but not like you, I'm not good under pressure." said Alex. He paused and added quietly, "She's really sick - really sick, and I'm not good under pressure."_

* * *

_"This is my Georgie, he's a doctor." His mother was absolutely beaming as she introduced her son to various people._

_"Mom," He blushed. "I'm not a doctor yet, I only just finished school. I have to be an intern first. I only just chose a hospital - "_

_"He's going to go to Seattle Grace."_

_The lady before him – some neighbor or something, he didn't actually know – was suitably impressed, and then proceeded to tell a long story about how her husband's nephew's roommate was once in a car accident and was taken to Seattle Grace, and she'd heard the treatment was good._

_He didn't really care what this lady or anyone else at the party had to say. He was just excited to be going in the first place._

* * *

" _George O'Malley?" A pretty brunette entered the room. The name on her jacket read_ Dr. Callie Torres _._

_"Uh, hi."_

_She scanned his chart and looked up saying, "Dr. George O'Malley. You're the heart in the elevator guy!"_

_He flushed a bit and smiled. "Yeah, that's me."_

_The brunette smiled widely. "That was amazing."_

* * *

" _I don't... I don't think I'm going to make it out of here," Anthony said weakly._

_George opened his eyes at his friend's voice. He was going through a not too bad couple hours with his fever - in comparison to how it usually was, anyway. At least he was lucid. "W-what?" His teeth chattered uncontrollably._

_His friend doubled over as his body was wracked with a horrible coughing fit. When he managed to catch his breath and sit back up with his back against the wall, George could see the blood trickling out of the corners of Anthony's mouth._

_"If... if you make it, can you... just make sure Annabelle knows how much I loved her." Tears started making trails down Anthony's filthy cheeks. "Make sure she knew I was going to propose."_

_"Shut up. You'll tell her yourself." George's body shook violently with shivers - he felt like he was covered in ice. And as it was with this particularly horrible fever, he knew in about ten minutes time he'd be so hot he'd think he was in an oven._

_Anthony smiled, though it was a hauntingly sad smile._

_"I s-swear, Anthony, i-if you give up right n-now, I'll k-kill you myself." George threatened._

_Anthony chuckled quietly. "That's the spirit, O'Malley."_

_"P-promise me you won't g-give up."_

_"I promise, mate. I promise."_

* * *

_As the elevator doors opened, she averted her eyes and his heart rate sped up. It wasn't supposed to go that fast when he saw her – he was married to Callie, he could not be feeling this way, he could_ not _be falling for his best friend…_

_"Izzie, look," he began._

_"Look, I don't want you to go. To Mercy West, I don't want you… " She trailed off, struggling and still having trouble meeting his eyes. "It's not fair. I know we can't help what happened and I know that we didn't… I stood in that bridal shop with your wife and I smiled and I talked and I felt like… that it's not fair."_

_He hated to see her upset, he hated himself for cheating on Callie, he hated that he found himself in this huge mess. He hated that he could hear the way her heart was breaking as she talked. He hated the way he ached to be near her when he just_ couldn't _be...  
_

" _I don't want you to go to Mercy West because I'm losing my best friend and it's not fair. It's just not fair." She choked out, her eyes glistening._

 _He put his hand on her arm, trying to find something comforting to say, but the words didn't seem to want to come. She leaned towards him, resting her head on his shoulder. His heart was pounding at her touch. She was so close and her smell was intoxicating. All he could think about was that night they were together, and the feelings he found himself having for her were_ so _overwhelming…_

_He shut his eyes, trying to refocus his mind. Her face moved upwards and he couldn't focus anymore if his life depended on it. His lips sought hers and when they connected, all train of logical thought was completely derailed. Her hands touched his shoulders briefly as his hand snaked up to her neck and jaw._

_The kiss was powerful and passionate and suddenly she ended it, pulling back with a snap, guilt burning in her features._

" _We can't," he said quietly, barely managing to breathe. He knew he should feel worse than he did – he was the married one and it wasn't like Callie had ever done anything to deserve this sort of betrayal – but with Izzie's taste still making his lips tingle, he couldn't feel anything except disappointment that the kiss had ended._

" _I know."_

* * *

_"Okay, go, it's your turn."_

_"I know! I can't think of anything. I never..." She giggled, her glass jostling and spilling a little on the couch. They'd managed to finish the bottle of Jack's and had moved on to whatever left over liquor there was from the party._

_"Time's a-wastin', Stevens."_

_"I know, I know, stop pressuring me. Um..."_

_"There has to be something you haven't said yet. Come on, I wanna drink this!"_

_"Okay! I never..." she glanced at the clock on the wall and had trouble speaking as she was laughing so hard. "I've n-never stayed up past s-six in the morning p-playing I Never!"_

_"You're doing it now!" He laughed too and they sloppily had more to drink._

_After she swallowed, they stared at the several empty beer bottles, the empty bottle of Jack's, some rum bottles, cooler bottles and more scattered messily across the coffee table._

_"Callie's going to pissed." she said._

_He shrugged. "It's your birthday. Birthday girls don't get completely wasted alone."_

_She giggled and impulsively kissed his cheek. "You're the best, George, you really are."_

_"I know." he said modestly and she hit him with a couch pillow._

* * *

_"You remembered."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: I have to say, I didn't think it would be, but it was actually very intimidating to write the Elevator Kiss, because I so badly wanted to do it justice and it's in my top three most treasured GI moments. And I had to do it entirely from George's POV, which also proved somehow harder than I thought it would be.


	17. Goin' Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: I know you're all dying to get back to the cabin and Izzie - I promise you, it's coming real soon, but not quite yet. There's a little more for George...

_So long, I'm goin', goin' home…  
-Dan Auerbach_

* * *

_October – Two Days Later_

By now nearly everyone in the base knew that George's memory was back and that he was leaving at the end of the week. There was a new group of men coming in on Saturday by truck and George would be heading back to one of the main cities with the emptied truck. From there he'd be able to get himself to an airport.

Gris had been a bit uncharacteristically emotional at first when George had gone into his office the morning immediately after it all came rushing back and then when they'd figured out how to get George back to Seattle - now that he remembered everything, the only thing he could think about was getting back as soon as possible. The older man had brushed his watery eyes off as "bein' old and sentimental these days" and joked he was going soft. George had shook his hand tight and thanked him deeply for everything he'd done.

Wes, of course, had been animated and cheery, wanting to know all kinds of details about George's background and life before the attack and POW camp, which George shared with him and many of his other friends. He glossed over the details, particularly concerning the depth of his relationship with Izzie. It was painful to think about how he'd left things with her.

It was just as Wes and George were loading up a supply truck due to head out just after lunch that something his friend was rambling on about made him stop.

"Of course, I'd never been there before, so I didn't know what to expect really or what we were supposed to be doing. She signed us up for this tour thing, which wasn't really all that exciting, until they took us to the lagoon and the caves. Oh _man_ , were _those_ ever something – "

_Caves._

" _I was out last night with the boys from C3," said Rich. "Canvassing those caves 20 miles north of here. They got a report from John-Boy that there was activity up there, but we couldn't find anything. Didn't help 'course, our long-range radar went a little glitchy and shut down. We got back just before lunch, but Jackson wants to try again tomorrow with a better radar…"_

George took off at a run, leaving Wes standing bewildered by the half-loaded truck with a crate in his arms.

Part of him wondered why he hadn't caught on sooner while the rest of him was busy reminding him of the whole amnesia thing. Luckily Gris was just finishing up a meeting with Eddie about the missing supplies issue when George arrived – exactly what he needed to talk to them about.

"It's the long range sensors," he said breathlessly. "That's the key."

"What are you talkin' about, kiddo?"

"Sir, the supply truck that's supposed to be going out today is supposed to be the one where things go missing, based on that pattern Eddie and I found. You told me the other day that men involved in that were being dealt with, which means they won't be going on the run today."

Gris nodded in sullen agreement. "I talked to the fellas myself and I don't believe they've been leaking supplies on purpose. They're scared for their lives and have seen trucks with their friends in them go up because they weren't co-operating. That's why they narrowed their runs to just the two of them – so they didn't have to involve anyone else and get them killed."

"Gris and I were just talking about this," said Eddie. "We were thinking that maybe if we change our route and arm up the truck, we could take them, end this."

George shook his head. "They stole maps too, remember? They know all our routes, so changing won't do us any good. They still know where to find us. And if they have good enough radars, they'll be able to see that it's way more than two guys in the truck. They could hit you harder as a result."

Eddie asked, "But what does this have to do with sensors? You said they were the key."

"When I was looking over all the charts and schedules with you, there was a supply truck that was attacked back in April. They reported their long rangers going down moments before it happened. We had a group of guys who saw activity in some caves north of us, but when they got close, their radars went down. We thought at the time it was one-time issue and they were going to send someone out to look again. But then the attack happened – we had almost no warning of it whatsoever, and I'm betting it was because the same kind of jammer or radar cancellation device was used on us too."

Gris' eyes lit up. "I think I see where you're going with this."

Eddie glanced between them. "Um, I don't."

"Eddie, Gris told me you can fix anything."

"In theory."

"Do you think you could make some sort of universal jammer? Something that screws up whatever their using?"

"If I did that, it'd screw our sensors too. We'd all be blind."

"I know."

Eddie looked thoroughly confused for a few seconds before comprehension slowly dawned on his face. "If we jam them, they can't see how many men we have and they can't take us by surprise. So we can fill the truck with men instead of supplies. They'll be expecting to steal from their usual pair, but we'll take them instead."

"And we use the old-school methods of finding out where our enemies are," said Gris. "I betcha those Ba'ath boys don't know some of the tricks from back in the day." He turned his smile to Eddie. "So whatdya say? Think you can have that jammer done by the time the truck needs to leave?"

Eddie glanced at his watch. "I'll see what I can do."

* * *

George had tried to insist he come along. He was not exactly a soldier trained in combat or anything, but he was medically trained and had wanted to be able to help injuries then and there. Gris had basically strictly forbid it, however, first on the grounds of his lack of field training and secondly because now that George was finally going to be on his way to Seattle, Gris was not about to let him jeopardize it for a second.

George had reluctantly complied and set to work around the base as the supply truck rumbled off into the desert with Eddie's make-shift universal signal jammer and a boatload of men and guns.

* * *

The truck came screaming into the base roughly five and half hours later, looking significantly worse for the wear. There was a lot of shouting as the injured were unloaded and George was there immediately, ready to help. His heart plummeted like a cannonball into his stomach when the third person pulled out of the back of the truck onto a gurney was Gris, bleeding heavily seemingly all over.

 _Compartmentalize,_ he thought firmly. _Right now he's not Gris, your friend, he's just another soldier, just another patient. Just another person whose life needs to be saved and fast._

He called out orders like a lead doctor and was rushed accordingly straight to the base's cramped but sterile onsite OR in the med/rehab building.

* * *

"Is he ok? Is he gonna make it? He's alright, right?" Freddie asked in a rush as George finally emerged from the OR, exhausted.

Wes was trembling and teary-eyed and Joe was leaning against the wall, scowling darkly at the floor and George could tell that that was his way of being as worried as Wes.

"He lost a lot of blood," George reported. "He took a few bullets to his back and chest, and he may not be able to walk well again, if ever, but he's alive. He's alright."

Wes covered his face with his hands in relief and Freddie exhaled heavily. Joe's scowl lessened slightly.

As George was heading back to the OR, Joe caught up with him.

"Is he… can we see him?"

"Probably in a little while. Right now he really needs to rest." He smiled a little. He was going to walk away again, but Joe seemed like he was struggling to say something, so he waited.

"I… it's my fault, O'Malley. We were following the plan, and I got… I…" He shook his head, speaking intensely. "I was scared. I could see them coming and I… I couldn't face them. We didn't quite outnumber 'em and I all I could think was _this is it_ , _this is how you're going to die, Joe_. And they came and everybody was fighting… I tried to get out – just… And then he was there grabbing my arm and reassuring me, promising me he wouldn't… that he wouldn't let me die… and they… It's my fault he was shot."

Joe rarely showed emotion, so it was with a heart-breaking jolt that George watched the way guilt and shame cracked open Joe's features. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen a more vulnerable man and hardly knew what to do.

"It wasn't your fault," he finally said. "Gris would do anything for any one of us. He doesn't just treat us like officers or soldiers, he treats us like sons. What he was doing out there… he was doing it as a father to a son."

"But I was being a coward. After all my training, after everything I've been through… All I wanted to do was run."

"And that happens to all of us." George said firmly. His mind flicked to a day in a cabin where he realized he wanted to join the army… He snapped it back to the present. "We're not perfect, we're not all brave and courageous. And a bunch of training doesn't mean you're ready for the real thing. When my base was attacked, I was huddling behind a truck when my friend had to haul me outta there."

Joe finally managed to meet his friend's eyes.

"Gris is going to be fine and there's no way he blames you for this, so don't blame yourself. It's not your fault. Besides, you brought him back here, didn't you? You saved his life."

Some form of relief and acceptance began to replace the guilt and shame on Joe's face and George could see him closing up, back to bottling everything deep. He smiled just a tad. "Technically _you_ did – you're the one with the scrubs and fancy tools."

"You got him outta there. I just did the easy part." George smiled back. "You can visit him in a couple hours."

* * *

All the guys took their turns together or separately to visit Gris once he was awake. Gris made jokes about all the fuss over "a coupla paper cuts" and spent a long time talking to Joe with the door closed, though Joe came out with puffy eyes and looking like there was no longer a hefty weight pulling him down.

Eventually it was George's turn, both as his doctor and his friend.

"Hey kiddo."

"Hey Gris, how're you feeling?"

"Ah, a bit like I got shot up and then stitched together."

George chuckled and checked Gris over, making notes on his chart.

"I know…" Gris began a few quiet moments later. "I know you're leaving tomorrow and that this… well, it isn't the best time. But it's never been the best time and that's problem." He sighed as George looked questioningly at the older man. "Have a seat, kiddo. There's some things I need to tell you."

He did as he was told, uncertain what Gris needed to speak to him about.

"My son James had this great friend, Mark. They were pretty inseparable and he was like a second son to me. All through his high school and college years. There was a car accident in their senior year. And Mark… he didn't make it. It destroyed James. He went through a real rough time and then decided to join the army, be like his old man, and get his life back on track." Gris' eyes glistened over and his voice cracked a little as he added, "He died on September 11, 2001. He… never made it over here."

George's heart broke for Gris. He placed a comforting hand on the older man's arm. "I'm sorry."

Gris exhaled heavily and seemed to gather his composure a bit. "When you woke up in that infirmary back in May, I already could see James in you. And after I got to know you a bit, I _really_ could see it. You're so much like him, kiddo. You have a real inner strength and courage to you, even if you won't admit it. A heart bigger than Texas, patience, and the ability to think clearly when things go haywire. You never lose that – _any_ of it, no matter what happens to you."

It was George's turn to feel emotional as he nodded, eyes on his hand resting on his knee.

Gris cleared his throat a bit and continued, "I told you before that we'd gathered some intel about an underground POW camp, and we were finally able to raid it. But what I need to tell you, and what I should have told you sooner, was that the only reason we found it, was because of your friend Anthony."

George lifted his head.

"We went on a lot of scouting missions but whatever they were using was somehow completely cloaking their signals – that jammer, like you said earlier. We weren't picking up anything on our radars and we were ready to give up, thinking the intel was false. And then on our last scouting run, there was suddenly something. We checked it out and found a small underground base, no more than a half a dozen hostiles and a few dead bodies. We found your buddy alive, but with a lot of bullets in him – on his way out, so to speak. He'd somehow managed to get a hold of a gun, get out into the main area of the base, destroy their equipment and kill a few of them in the process. They shot 'im and left him to die – they were more worried about trying to repair their stuff. We took them all prisoner and found you too. He died before we could get him back to our base and we thought you were going to too, but you held on."

George swallowed a new lump of emotion rising in his throat at the information Gris was relaying. He could imagine Anthony doing those things, thought he could sort of remember snatches of it in the haze of the fever he'd been fighting.

"I… I never told you before because you had just woken up – you'd just gone through a serious trauma. We didn't know how long you guys had been down there. If you didn't remember for yourself, I hardly wanted to be the guy to tell you exactly how your friend died. And I should've told you sooner, once you'd recovered a bit. You still had no memory, and… God kiddo, you're so much like James. All I could think about was how… _wrecked_ he was after Mark died. I always tried to protect him from everything, and that - that was something I couldn't protect him from. You've told me now that you were close to him, to Anthony, but…" He trailed off for a moment before adding, "You know, on that ride back here, while he was bleeding all over my hands, he was trying to crack jokes."

George ducked his head again, letting the tears roll down his nose. He'd only remembered Anthony, the fact that they'd grown to be close friends in the couple months they'd been stationed together and about his death, just a few days ago. He hadn't dealt with it, though, hadn't stopped to internalize it or accept it. Hearing Gris' words about how he died was both painful and welcome. It was closing a chapter in a book and it was hard and was breaking his heart, but he knew he needed it.

"And you know… the thing he said right before he…" Gris shook his head slightly with a small smile. "He made me promise to take good care of you. Said you were 'one of the good ones'."

George covered his face with both hands, thinking of the bright, funny and outgoing Brit who had been such a good friend. He remembered how when he'd locked up and been unable to run during the attack, Anthony had been trying to pull him safety. He thought of the many nights they stayed up far too late, whispering about this and that and getting teased incessantly by the other guys for acting like they were at a sleep-over. He recalled how in love Anthony was Annabelle, how he was going to propose, how he was the only one who'd known all the details about George's own love for Izzie. He thought about how deeply unfair it was that the world would no longer have someone like him in it - a _hero_ like him.

"I'm so sorry, George," said Gris softly. "I'm sorry all this happened to you and I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I just couldn't let you go back home without finally knowing."

The quiet stretched where George kept his head down, thinking of his friend and Gris somberly thought of his son, and the man beside him who was so much like that son. Finally George lifted his head, his eyes red and his cheeks wet.

"Thank you, Gris." He said. "For everything. I wouldn't be here i-if it weren't for you. Thank you… for helping me get my life back. And thank you for telling me a-about Anthony."

"No sweat, kiddo. No sweat."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: I can't tell you how much I didn't want to kill Anthony, I really liked him. *sigh* But my muse is crafty and extremely demanding, and she wouldn't let me off the hook. George's side is nearly done, and yes, that cabin scene continuation is coming up real soon, I promise. ;)


	18. Combinations

_How could we know that night would bring us into daylight…  
_ _-Eisley_

* * *

As George approached the payphone in busy Heathrow airport, he still felt a bit queasy. The flight from Baghdad had not been terribly smooth, nor the layover in Istanbul very restful. He figured he'd buy some Ginger Ale on his way out and find a bed soon until his flight tomorrow to Seattle.

After dialing, the phone rang multiple times before going to voicemail.

_"Hi there!"_

It was just two words of a recording, but it was enough to make a huge wave of homesickness wash over him. He smiled instantly at hearing his mother's voice.

" _You've reached the O'Malley residence. We're not home right now - "_

" _We're in Cancun!"_ Ronnie (or Jerry, it was hard to tell which; they sounded the same on the phone) cut in.

" _That's right! And we won't be back until Tuesday the 18_ _th_ _. So leave us a name and number and we'll get back to you then. If it's a real, honest-to-goodness emergency, you can leave a message at our hotel and we'll get back to you pronto."_

" _The number is 998-555-3457."_ Jerry (or Ronnie?) supplied.

" _Bye!"_ The three of them chorused.

George was so busy reeling from the shock of the voicemail that he didn't realize for a moment that the machine had beeped and he'd just left a couple seconds of dead air on the voice mail.

"Uh, hey, Mom, wow… Cancun? Um, well I hope you're having a great time! It's me – George - and uh… look, it's a really, _really_ long story why I haven't called you sooner and one I will tell you as soon as I can. I'm standing in London right now, on uh… Sunday the, well, 16th, I guess it would be. I have to make a stop first and then I'm coming home. I hope you're not too worried about me – I'm fine. I-I just wanted to let you know I'll be home soon. And I'm okay. So… see you then. Okay, bye."

He stared at the phone for a moment after he hung up, still thinking about the voicemail. Cancun? His family never traveled. In fact, he was quite sure they actually _never_ had traveled. His grandparents had once taken him and his brothers to see the Grand Canyon, but his parents had stayed behind. They were both born and raised in the state of Washington and as far as he knew had pretty much never left it. What had prompted the sudden change? Why Cancun? And why did she take Ronnie and Jerry with her?

George shook his head with a growing smile. His mother was actually _traveling_.

 _How about that_ , he thought happily.

Outside the airport, he hailed a cab and handed him the scribbled address he'd looked up at one of the airport's internet terminals. Not for the first time, he was extremely grateful to the men of Gris' unit back in Iraq. Aside from the shoebox with its meager contents and a handful of borrowed clothes, George had basically nothing to his name and certainly not any money. The guys had gotten together and created a pool of money, helping George on his way back to Seattle. It was an enormous gift, seeing as how they didn't have much money to spare in the first place and he didn't take it lightly.

Gris had supplied the money – or plastic, as it were – for the airline ticket. George had tried to protest that it was too much for him to cover, but Gris had been pretty unyielding.

"How else are you gonna get back there, huh? Hitchhike? There's an ocean in between them continents you know, kiddo." He'd chuckled and pressed the credit card in George's hand. "I'm serious – you use it until you're on your feet and then you can cut it up if you want."

"I'll pay you back sir," George promised, trying not to be overcome with emotion, standing there with his backpack of belongings and gifts, just after having said goodbye to everyone else at the base.

Gris waved him off. "I'm not worried, kiddo. And you'll hear me say it again before you go: you're just like James."

George's mind slid back to the present as the cab pulled up to the small green and white house. He paid the cabbie, who made some comment about needing an umbrella for the downpour, and disembarked, backpack slung over his shoulder. He didn't have second thoughts in the slightest as he headed up the walkway to the porch in the pouring rain.

* * *

He rapped on the door loudly and waited a little uneasily in his uniform on her doorstep.

A red-headed woman with pale skin came moments later. She opened the door warily and George immediately saw that Anthony had not been completely exaggerating when he'd gone on and on about how pretty she was.

"Yes?" she said.

"Miss Annabelle Benford?"

"Yes, that's me."

"My name is George O'Malley. I served with Anthony in Iraq and I have something for you."

* * *

Since his mother wasn't home and wouldn't be until the following day, the next place George knew he needed to go was to see the one person he'd been thinking of virtually non-stop since he took off in London on his way to Seattle.

He went to Meredith's house first, knowing that when he'd left, she spent most of her days there and evenings at the trailer. Part of him hoped to find her but another part hoped she wasn't there. It'd been around seven months or so (or longer, he really didn't know exactly, as his memory was still a bit fuzzy and he didn't know how long he'd been stuck in the POW camp) since he'd disappeared and surely she'd gotten her job back at the hospital by now?

He checked the trailer she shared with Alex next just in case, but it was locked and no one was home. He drove to the hospital next and found weird butterflies (eagles maybe?) swooping around in his stomach as he approached the tall glass entryway.

When he walked through the doors, he felt strange. It was a home away from home, and seeing it again after so long and after all he'd been through made him feel emotional. This place held so much for him: some of his best days, his worst and everything in between. It held so much of his life - a life that until just a very short time ago had been completely forgotten.

God, it felt good to be _home_.

He received some strange or startled looks as he made his way to the elevator and wasn't sure why. There were a lot of faces of the staff he didn't recognize and the few he did, seemed to not know how to look at him. He smiled in a friendly way and then got off on the surgical floor, feeling more apprehensive than he had downstairs (yup, those were definitely eagles flying around in his stomach). He tried not to think too hard about what would happen when he saw his old friends, and or if it'd be anything like the odd looks he'd gotten in the elevator.

He approached the nurses' station, feeling odd and nervous, like he no longer belonged. Here he was in a uniform, with scars on his body, surrounded by people in blue and white scrubs and coats, who had no idea what he'd been through. And they were staring.

He realized it with a self-conscious jolt before he'd opened his mouth to speak at the nurse behind the desk. People were stopping in the halls and noise was dying down. Not everyone, but many people. He felt himself redden and couldn't look around.

_Geez, have they never seen someone in an army uniform before?_

"George _O'Malley_?"

He turned around to see Miranda Bailey moving carefully through the groups of familiar faces who had stopped to stare and whisper to each other. He smiled rather crookedly at her, glad she was one of the first people he got to see upon his return to Seattle Grace.

"You... you're... you're okay?" She was clutching her chest as if afraid she was going to keel over at any second. She certainly looked like she couldn't believe what she was seeing.

That was a loaded question – 'okay' was pretty relative at this point. He went with the simple answer. "Yeah."

He didn't even get a second word out before she laid into him, in true old-fashioned Bailey style.

" _George O'Malley_! Do you have _any_ idea what you've put us through? What you've put _me_ through? Your friends - _everyone_? Dammit, O'Malley! How long have you been okay? What the hell happened and why the _hell_ did your mother come and tell us you were gone? We had your damn _funeral_!"

Well, that explained the staring.

"Almost seven whole months, O'Malley. Seven very long months, where we all thought you were dead and here you are, _waltzing_ in - in your – your… _fancy_ uniform, not dead! For heaven's sake O'Malley, _explain_ yourself!"

He would've rather not have had that conversation in the main hallway, with about thirty or more people watching and listening, but he had no choice now.

"I... It's a very long story. Trust me when I say I-I didn't know you thought I was gone for good - until this moment. I didn't stay away for so long on purpose."

Tears filled her eyes as she still tried to be angry with him. "Well, I should damn well hope not! I swear, O'Malley, if you _ever_ put any of us though this again, I will kill you myself. Is that understood?"

George nodded, trying not to smile. He was quite positive there wouldn't _ever_ be a next time like this.

Bailey pursed her lips, trying not to let a tear escape while so many people were watching. "I, uh, I suppose you came here to visit then, did you? Stopped in to-to say _hi_?"

"Well, only if you have the time to."

That did it. Onlookers be damned, Bailey hugged George tight, hardly daring to believe this wasn't a dream she was about to wake up from, and that the young man she had cared so much for like a son was really, truly not dead. He hugged her back tight, wanting to tell her everything that had happened to him from the horrible to the wonderful.

 _Later,_ he thought. Right now he had to find Izzie.

As he and Bailey separated, he was about to ask when he heard his name being shouted again. He turned to see three more people he'd missed dearly hurrying towards him. Word was spreading like wildfire that Doctor George O'Malley was safe and alive and standing at the main nurses' station on the surgical floor.

"George, oh God!" Meredith, usually not one for hugs, threw her arms around him. Cristina behind her looked shocked and relieved, still in a scrub cap and looking very much like she'd just come from an OR (George could hardly believe she appeared to have actually exited a surgery in progress to come see if the rumors were true). Callie was tearfully grinning at him and he hugged her next as she sniffled that she couldn't believe this was real. He and Cristina opted for a tight handshake, and though she made a comment about how having him back meant she'd miss out on more surgeries now, the little glisten in her eye gave her away for how much she'd missed him.

"I missed you too," he said quietly. He looked for any sign of Izzie but didn't see her or Alex anywhere, which worried him.

The next few minutes were a blur as then everyone else it seemed wanted to take their turn to welcome George back and express how much they'd missed him. He'd had no idea the impact he'd made when he'd been a doctor here. A lot of people were crying and some faces he barely recognized came forward to hug him or shake his hand and tearfully welcome him back.

Maybe he hadn't been as invisible as he'd felt.

It wasn't until after he felt like he'd probably reunited with everyone in the hospital, including the Chief, Lexie, Derek and many of his other friends and colleagues that he finally got a moment to ask, "Where's Izzie? Is she here?"

Cristina averted her eyes and Meredith became instantly uncomfortable. George feared the worst - _what if her cancer came back? What if she died while I was away?_ He tried to force the scary thoughts away for fear his knees would give out if he thought about them too seriously.

"Meredith?"

"She's... gone."

"Gone? Gone where?" _Oh God, she didn't die, tell me she didn't die..._

"We don't really know." Cristina supplied hesitantly.

"You don't... how could - how could you _not_ know?" George looked between them. They were about to answer when the elevator behind them opened and the girls both turned their gazes to the person exiting it.

George turned around and met Alex's eyes, who had a backpack and was clearly just arriving for his shift. The other man's eyes widened and he got off the elevator woodenly. George wasn't sure what to say.

"Hey," Alex greeted as if he'd seen George yesterday.

George couldn't help but smile as he replied in return, "Hey."

Alex awkwardly held out his hand to shake George's and George pulled his friend into a quick hug. They had their differences, they fought and disagreed constantly, they hated each other on some level, and they hadn't seen each other in a very long while, but Alex was still his friend and family, as opposite as they were.

 _Dirty Uncle Sal,_ he thought with amusement, his mind flashing just for moment back to their early intern days, before everything.

"I even missed _your_ crap, Alex," said George so only the two of them could hear. They pulled apart and Alex blinked repeatedly.

"Yeah, well. Can't say the same, Bambi." He said gruffly.

George pretended not to notice the shine in his friend's eyes and Alex returned the favor. As George glanced down, he noticed immediately the lack of wedding ring on Alex's finger and his stomach gave an odd lurch.

"Where's Izzie?" he asked cautiously, again fearing the worst.

Alex sighed. "She moved to Davenport a few months ago. Or, we're pretty sure anyway. She said that's where she went, but she won't let us visit – she only comes here about once a month."

"She… she didn't get her job back? She didn't come back to the hospital?"

Alex shook his head. "She… Look, she pretty much fell apart after you left. Bad. She was better for a little while and then you… you know, died, and it got worse. Much worse. We separated a little while after that. Then she moved."

George's heart sunk. Fell apart? Moved away? These were not things he wanted to hear. And he wouldn't admit aloud, but he couldn't stop the small burst of excitement and hope that suddenly was burning in his chest, even if it was alongside some very serious worry.

"Are you… alright?" He asked unsurely, wondering if he even should be asking. How did you ask someone you always fought with how they felt about being divorced from the woman you both loved?

Alex shrugged in his typical Alex way, as if he didn't care. Then he said quietly, "Yeah, I am." He met his friend's gaze and George knew he meant it.

Whatever had happened to him, whatever had happened between him and Izzie, it was over and somehow Alex had come out truly alright. He wasn't being snide (a vast improvement, George couldn't help thinking), he wasn't trying to deny it or cover his real feelings about it. He was alright and that was better than he'd been in a very, _very_ long time.

George spent a few more minutes promising everyone he would return and explain what happened, but he had to get to Davenport. His friends weren't sure if she was even there anymore, or where exactly in Davenport she was, but he knew.

He knew exactly where she was.

* * *

"And then I arrived on your doorstep," George finally finished.

"Wow," said Izzie, still trying to absorb everything he had told her.

A few moments of silence passed where he waited unsurely for her reaction and she felt like complete blender of emotions, her mind reeling. She studied the scars on his face and then her eyes traveled down his uniform to his hands. Part of her was incredibly happy to see him, to have him back in her life, when she'd believed he was gone for good. Nobody got that kind of chance again.

But…

"I moved on," she eventually said in a low voice. "I… I moved on. You were gone and I… God, George, I was destroyed. After everything – mom died, you left, Alex and I got worse, and then I was pregnant - "

"You were pregnant?" He asked incredulously, his mind immediately jumping to the medical near impossibility of her even having a chance after all her cancer treatment.

"Yeah, and it was yours, George," her voice quivered.

He thought about the day at the cabin, the day before he joined the army.

"I tried to tell you – I used the emergency number and I tried to tell you."

That was the message. The day of the attack, when Dean had come to him saying Izzie had left him a message to call immediately. He said as much to Izzie who half-shrugged sadly.

"Well, it doesn't matter now. I lost it – after you died. I had a miscarriage. And then Alex and I decided to separate."

"Iz…" He reached for her, his heart absolutely breaking for her. She'd gone through _so_ much pain in her lifetime, and so much in such a short time. He hated that he hadn't been there for her through all this, hated that he'd been stuck on the other side of the world with no knowledge of her for months. Hated it more than he could ever put into words.

"I missed you constantly, I-I couldn't stand the fact that you were gone, I wrote emails I could never send, I called your voicemail just to hear your voice until it was disconnected… George, I _wished_ for _cancer_ to come back, just so – just so that I _might_ be able to see you one more time, even if it wasn't real." A few tears rolled down her cheeks and she hastily brushed them away.

"It's okay, I'm here now." He slowly reached for her.

She shook her head and stood abruptly, pulling away from him. "No, I moved on, George. It doesn't matter anymore, don't you see? _None_ of it matters anymore. I moved on, I have a new life here. I _moved on_."

"You keep saying that."

"Because it's true! It's been like - almost eight months since I last saw you, only a little less than that since I last talked to you. I – Dan! Dan Ryder asked me on date and I was going to go out with him too." She paced back and forth, struggling and failing to rein in her overwhelming mixture of emotion. "It doesn't matter that you said _maybe someday_ , it doesn't matter that I believed you. It doesn't - I - I thought _you_ were the one who needed us to stop being together and we broke up so _you_ would be happy. I married Alex because he cared and he needed me and I had feelings for you and I pretended I didn't and _none of it matters_ because I _moved_ on!"

George stood as well. "Who're you trying to convince here? Me or you? Izzie, come on - "

"Stop," she said, her eyes full of tears. "It's been too long, George. It's… it's over."

He remembered having an all too similar conversation in this very cabin, some time ago…

" _It wasn't over. It wasn't over for me either."_

" _You married Alex, Izzie. That's about as over as it gets."_

" _It's not over."_

"I can't imagine how hard everything has been for you. I-I can't _imagine_ having to go through… any of it, alone. I _hate_ that I wasn't here, and you know I would not have let you do this without me had I known. But you can't… you can't say it's over. It was _never_ over for us. You can't give up on us and you can't look me in the eye… and tell me you've moved on."

She stood her ground but her lip was trembling slightly.

"If you have, tell me. If you've really, _truly_ moved on, tell me, and I'll walk out that door and… and that'll be it." He slowly took a few steps towards her, dropping his voice and keeping his intense gaze trained on her. "But I told you that _you_ were the thing that brought my memory back, _you_ were the one thing I needed to get back to more than anything. I love you, Izzie. I _love_ you. And I've never stopped – not really."

It'd been months. He'd been dead. She'd been married and divorced and about to start dating again. She'd moved on, she _had_. But she couldn't make the words come out of her mouth as she stood there, however, looking into the pair of blue eyes she'd missed more than anything. She couldn't lie to herself and say she hadn't spent long nights crying over losing him, crying over letting him go in the first place and dreaming about what would never be.

Except now it _could_ be.

"It's not really over," he whispered. "Is it?"

There was a long moment of silence and then she shook her head.

He reached out with his right hand to gently cup her cheek and then he slowly closed the distance between them, never breaking eye contact. Her own hands were shaking and her heart thudding wildly in her chest. Then as his lips touched hers, they shut their eyes and the kiss that followed between them seemed to light the room on fire. It was hungry and passionate and full of long-awaited love and held something they'd needed all along.

He brought up his other hand up to her shoulder and she threw her arms around his neck. He held her tight against him as the kiss deepened, while she disregarded the couple of tears that managed to escape.

And it no longer mattered that they'd had to go through so much pain and heartbreak, so many hurdles and detours to finally get here. It only mattered that they _were_ here, in each other's arms.

Where they had always belonged.


	19. Epilogue: Someday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: An extra special thanks to Nicola for working through this whole story with me before it was fit for reader's eyes, and to my fellow BGLers at FanForum. You guys are the best. <3

_And maybe someday  
We'll figure all this out...  
Someday  
-Rob Thomas_

* * *

_Six (and a half) Months Later_

"I've decided I like being married. Like real, married, I mean." said Meredith thoughtfully. "I didn't think I would, but I totally do."

"I love it." Izzie agreed with a wide grin.

Meredith hadn't even really wanted a wedding – she was pretty content with the whole being-married-on-a-Post-It thing – but McMommy wasn't, once she found out. And maybe Meredith had resisted a bit at first to the idea, because her image of a wedding firstly included the sobbing bride she'd had to pull out of her dress and secondly of a gigantic church and a huge dress and far too many people. But that was where Izzie came in, because she'd had the big wedding and it'd been a dream, but it hadn't been right. So they planned their weddings together and while it wasn't going to be a double wedding, exactly, their guest lists overlapped significantly so they decided to make their weddings within several days of each other to make things easier.

Meredith and Derek were married first, in a gorgeous park under a large white gazebo covered in white flowers and green vines. Her dress was plain and simple, sleek and so very Meredith, her hair long and wavy, pulled away from her face with two tiny sparkling clips. The wedding, attended by close family and friends only, was followed by the reception held at Joe's.

A few days later, after the decorations were changed slightly and a few more rows of chairs added, George and Izzie were married. Her dress was more detailed and elaborate ("princessy", in Meredith's expert opinion) than Meredith's and her hair was in a fancy up-do, dotted with tiny white and pink flowers. The wedding, attended by friends and family including the surviving members of George's unit from Iraq and by Gris and a handful of men from Gris' unit, was followed by a reception held (naturally) at Joe's.

"I mean, we were married before - "

"We've been through this, Mer. Office supplies don't count."

"Okay, I know. What I'm trying to say, is that now we're both living in the same house, like permanently or whatever, and we've got rings and I've got a hyphenated name and everything. _Now_ it's _real_. And it's all official and everything - I like it."

Izzie chuckled.

George came up behind them at that moment and gave his wife a quick kiss on the cheek and asked her about how her day was going so far.

"Not too bad – very long. I've been doing rounds all day. Of course it was fine for Bailey to be pregnant or practically in labor and still doing surgeries, but _I_ have to do rounds and pit duty." Izzie complained.

George laughed and put his hand on her rounded stomach. "Well, you're not Bailey. And even though you are in fact a resident, you still report to her like you're an intern."

"What she'd have you doing all day?"

He grinned smugly. "I may have sweet-talked my way into a surgery or two."

"Oh come _on!_ " Meredith and Izzie protested in unison.

"Totally unfair." Meredith grumbled. She, like Izzie, had been restricted to more menial jobs around the hospital, though she was "less pregnant", as she put it, then Izzie.

"It's discrimination. Pregnancy discrimination."

George laughed. "Well whatever it is, you'll have to yell at Bailey about it. Hunt asked for me specifically today."

Izzie snorted. "Cristina's going to be pissed. She shouldn't expect to get every good surgery he's in on, though, just because they've been together for a year."

"Yeah, try telling _her_ that." said her husband.

After a few more minutes of chatting about other elements of their day, Izzie reminded George that they still had to pick up a bottle of wine before they headed to the Wiker's that evening for dinner.

"The Wiker's?" asked Meredith.

"Yeah, you remember Gris, from our wedding?"

"The... old army guy with the beard?"

"That's the one. He got back from Iraq four months ago and we've been keeping in touch. Him and his wife just moved to Seattle last month, and he invited Izzie and I over tonight."

"Which reminds me, George, we have to get groceries tomorrow after work or we'll have nothing to eat on the weekend. And we need ice cream. Oh! And cat food so Puffin and Timber don't starve."

"Yes dear," he joked.

After George and Izzie's honeymoon in the Caribbean, the first two things they'd done when they got back was getting their old jobs back at Seattle Grace Mercy West and then finding a new place to live. Though they were going to both greatly miss living in Meredith's house, it had been time for a change, especially since it seemed that though Meredith had been okay with demon-dog Doc, she wasn't okay with housing cats and Izzie refused to let go of Timber and Puffin. Aside from that, they figured having two married couples would feel too crowded, and certainly would make Lexie extremely uncomfortable. Since she and Mark had broken up quite some time ago, she'd moved in to Meredith's. George and Izzie, meanwhile, had completely lucked out and managed to find a modest little house for sale just one block over from Meredith's. It was a little older so it had its issues but it was their first home and they loved it immediately. So did Puffin and Timber.

"You ready to go?" he asked.

"Yes," Izzie sighed.

"I'll get your stuff and meet you downstairs." he said and headed to the resident's locker room to grab their bags.

Meredith shot her friend an envious look. "Getting out early to go to some dinner party – tut tut."

"Sucker." Izzie teased and waved goodbye as Meredith laughed.

Downstairs, George helped Izzie with her coat and held their bags in one hand and her hand in the other. In the car, she leaned her head on his shoulder for a moment, smiling.

"I love you," she said.

He grinned – it didn't matter how many times they said it, it always felt new and right and _so_ good. "I love you too, Iz."

She lifted her head and kissed him softly.

_And maybe, someday, we'll figure all this out  
We'll put an end to all our doubt  
Try to find a way to just feel better now_ _  
Then maybe, we'll live our lives out loud_   
_We'll be better off somehow  
Someday..._

She pulled away and he started the car. She reminded him once again about picking up wine for Gris and Sandy when he drove right past the liquor store.

Late that night, after the dinner party, after they'd arrived back at their little house, and after they'd climbed into bed and Izzie had drifted off to sleep, another wide smile stretched across George's features. They'd finally gotten the timing right and everything was finally, _finally_ right in his world.

The best part of being back at the hospital was being there with Izzie. They were working side by side again, best friends again and now married. The next best thing about being back at the hospital was the way people treated him now. He wasn't a gopher, a welcome mat, a grunt or a sponge. He wasn't doing all the dirty work with no credit, he wasn't overlooked and ignored. He wasn't _invisible_. People respected him, people came to him for advice, people really looked up to him. It was amazing how things had changed. Even Alex seemed to have gained a certain level of respect for him and though he was still Alex and he was still George, they had, rather impossibly it seemed, somehow become better friends after everything they'd all been through.

He wrapped his arm around around Izzie, still smiling. A year and a half ago, if he had known how his life would have turned out...

 _Just another day_ , he thought.

_"So we're saying maybe someday?"_

_"Yeah. Yeah we're saying maybe someday."_

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: They finally got their "Someday"! (*contented sigh*) Quite the roller coaster journey! Thanks for sticking with me. And for anyone who asks, this is really how season 5-6 went, Shonda just doesn't know it. ;)
> 
> (Quick sidenote: I understand Shonda saying that she simply cannot picture Meredith in a poofy dress with lots of people getting married because that's so not her. However, as I did take several shots at throughout this story (couldn't resist), office supplies don't count as a legal, binding contract. And Meredith's dress would be sleek and plain (no poofs, sparkles or anything else un-Mer-like), her hair not in any sort of fancy up-do (wavy and down, like she had it at Cristina's wedding in S3, only with a sparkly pin or something), and it wouldn't be a ton of people - close friends and a handful of family and colleagues. (*adopts Ted Mosby voice*) C'mon Shonda. C'mon.)


End file.
